The Secret of Bat Cave
by bythesea
Summary: Complete. ND and friends are invited to vacation on a seemingly peaceful island. They encounter new twists on the familiar children's mystery theme of hidden treasure. Based on a book by Linda Bailey.
1. Default Chapter

The snowy white form of the seagull flapped its wings briefly, then glided. So exactly did it match the speed of the ship that it seemed to float in time that had stopped.

Nancy Drew squinted into the bright sunshine and let the wind stream through her golden-red hair. Her hair was straight and cut short this summer, falling above the collar in the back. Her skin was evenly bronzed as if she had spent much time outdoors of late, hiking or cycling. There was something steady and imperturbable in the gaze of her grayish-blue eyes. One got the feeling that she was someone who would be useful in an emergency.

Mr. Fisk and his daughter Ivy remained in their seats inside the ferry. He was thinking that he was glad his daughter had invited her friends Nancy Drew, George Fayne and Bess Marvin to join them on their visit to Catriola Island. He expected that there would be some awkwardness to visiting a home that he had inherited but which he had never seen before, and was glad to have the company.

Bess and George were leaning against the railing, looking down on the waters churned into a white froth by the ship's passage. Bess's fair-complexioned face had already gained a red glow from her brief time on the ship's deck. George's skin was darker naturally and her legs were now tanned an attractive brown.

"Do you think it should be 'azure sea' or 'cerulean ocean'? How about 'the sea, shining with the iridescence of an abalone shell'?" Bess wondered.

"What are you going on about?"

"I've started keeping a travel journal. I thought it would be a good idea to record these adventures we go on with Nancy."

"That's not a bad idea. Every Holmes needs his Watson. I'm surprised neither of us has thought of it before. Just don't make it sound like a travel documentary. There's nothing worse than interrupting a perfectly fascinating mystery adventure to learn about, I don't know, the local lace-making industry."

"You mean, like 'The local lace-making industry was started by the St. Marymeade School for Abandoned Girls in the 1840's when they wanted to get some income from the little beggars. And now these exquisitely hand-crafted products are sold in fine shops all over the world.'"

"Yes, none of that. People should either see the place for themselves or read the tourist brochures."

"So I won't mention that we had to cross the border to get to this place, and how we have to convert from Fahrenheit degrees to Celsius degrees, and how they drive on the left hand side of the road."

"They do not!"

As the five of them were seated in the car ready to disembark, Ivy couldn't help but articulate her doubts. "It just seems strange that this is the first time we've been here, considering the house has been in the family forever. No one even talked about great-grandfather. And the house has stood empty since he died, almost ten years ago."

Ivy was short and a little plump. Her fine light brown hair was pulled back severely. She wore gold metal glasses with tiny rectangular frames. Of course she hadn't spent as much time with the other girls as they had with each other, through all their exciting detective adventures, but if she felt a little left on the outside she never showed it.

Her father smiled politely. "There's nothing really mysterious about it. Sorry to disappoint you there, Nancy. My grandmother left a long time ago, when my father was only a child. She re-married and settled on the other side of the continent, virtually."

"What condition is the house in?" asked Nancy.

"It's been taken care of by a man named Horace Eberhart. He's a neighbor. He's sent photos of the work he's done and the place seems to be in good shape."

"You must have busy lives in River Heights. It's not surprising you haven't found time to see the house," Nancy said thoughtfully.

"My father had no interest in going back, so it's up to the next generation. Or make that generations."

"We really must thank you again for inviting us," said George graciously.

"It's our pleasure," said Mr. Fisk. "I expect you girls will have an enjoyable and relaxing vacation."

"Enjoyable, I'm sure, but I wouldn't count on it being relaxing, not with Nancy around," quipped Bess.


	2. Chapter 2

Mr. Fisk drove up the ramp from the ferry deck onto the road. They pulled into the parking lot alongside the ferry terminal building. A heavy-set man was waiting for them outside the building. He had loose-fitting jeans on and a t-shirt in the colors of a pro football team. Maybe in his early thirties he already had fleshy jowls that made his eyes look small.

"I think those are what they call 'relaxed fit' jeans," whispered George. "It only goes to show that too much relaxation can be a dangerous thing."

"You're so cruel," said Bess.

"Hello, welcome to Broad Harbour, Catriola Island. I'm Horace Eberhart." He shook Mr. Fisk's hand. "You said you were planning to stay three weeks."

Mr. Fisk nodded. "That should give me time to decide how I like the place. And, of course, how Ivy likes it."

"It's too bad your wife didn't have time to join you."

"She has an important project and it's entered a critical period." Mr. Fisk did not sound entirely convincing.

"I'm glad your daughter brought friends with her. There aren't many teenagers on the island. People think it's a great place to raise kids, but there's no high school and it's inconvenient to put the kids on a boat every day. So they move off." He added with a chuckle, "Then they move here again when they retire."

The narrow country road ran from the ferry terminal at Broad Harbour through a tiny village of shops. "This road goes nearly around the coastline of the island," pointed out Horace. Spaced along the road were mailboxes. Some were decorated with painted flower designs or wooden carvings. The houses themselves were scarcely visible behind the trees.

"The island only has a population of fifteen hundred. Along most of the roads the houses are sparser and some owners have acreage, like you. There are big expanses of land that are still forest. They've never been developed, for houses or for farms. And there's a big park on the island. You might like to try camping there some time."

In only a few minutes the road went past the front of the Fisks' house. Ivy's eyes brightened at the sight of the tidy house covered in green wooden siding. If they were expecting a distinctive island house they would have been disappointed. It would not have looked out of place in any suburban subdivision of the 1930's, the decade in which it was built.

The interior was comfortably furnished, but the girls guessed that like some old people, Cyrus Fisk had not see much need for change. Very little had changed about the house in recent decades. They were quick about bringing in their suitcases and settling in.

"We're going to have to update some things around here," Mr. Fisk concluded. "Call me spoiled but I want a bigger bathtub and a better shower enclosure."

"And they're all this icky shade of green," complained Ivy.

Mr. Fisk laughed. "I think they called the color 'avocado' back in the '70's. But we can only change so much during this stay. I'll talk to Horace about it."

Later, Horace gave them a brief tour of the spacious grounds. Broad green lawns sloped down from the house. On the right side of the house, as seen from the road, surrounded by a low picket fence, was a garden. Nothing was growing there now except weeds but the raised rows of dirt were still clear. There was a shed in the garden, painted the same green as the house, with three small high windows. Beyond the garden was a field overgrown with wild grass. On the other side of the house the lawn was bordered by rows of fruit trees and beyond that was forest.

"I just wanted to show you the prospector's cabin," said their guide. They followed him out onto the road and walked past the lawn and the fruit trees. There was a modest rectangular cabin in a space where the trees had been cleared. Now this space was overgrown with young saplings, some as tall as a man. The building looked like it would soon be swallowed up by the woods again. Its exterior was of wood weathered and faded to a pale gray.

"I thought it might be a log cabin," said Bess.

"No, it was never a log cabin. Your grandfather, or great-grandfather, Cyrus renovated it. The interior is all from his time. There was still furniture in it when he died. I moved all of the smaller pieces back into the house."

"Prospector? What did he prospect?" asked Ivy.

"He went to the Klondike during the famous gold rush there. It's said he made quite a fortune. He certainly bought a lot of the land around here."

"It doesn't look like the house of a man who made a fortune," Ivy pointed out. Ivy spoke with a small voice and she was not nearly as exuberant as Nancy's other two friends but they had gotten used to hearing sharp and pertinent observations from her when she did speak.

"No, I guess not. He lived a frugal life. That's why they say…" But their narrator cut himself off at that point and they didn't learn what people said.

"So all our property used to belong to the prospector?"

Horace nodded. "The land on the other side of the road is also your property, right down to the water."

"Your great-grandfather didn't remarry then? It's strange to think that he lived so much of his life alone in this house after his wife left him," Nancy reflected.

The girls left Horace to discuss the house with Mr. Fisk and crossed the road in search of the waterfront. The steep path picked its way past the dark evergreen trees. Glimpses of blue ocean broadened as they descended until they were clambering over rocks fully exposed to the sun and salt sea air. The land was rocky where it met the ocean except for a short strip of pebbly beach at one spot.

"Too bad there isn't a real beach," said Bess.

"I think it's lovely," replied Nancy. She turned to look at another island on the horizon, where its distant blue hills melted into the sky.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey, is it just me or are people acting a little weird towards us?" asked George. "I was just in the general store and the girls at the checkout were watching me and whispering to each other."

"I know what you mean," Ivy recounted. "Nancy and I were in the café and they wouldn't serve us. They kept going past us to the other tables. Finally, Nancy went up to the counter and demanded to be served."

"With her impeccable finishing school manners," interjected Bess.

"Nothing less," said George.

"Oh, you two." Nancy laughed.

Ivy continued. "They took our order then but they were really rude about it. And whenever they looked at us they were frowning."

"They just think their 100 certified organic free-range coffee beans are too good for us visitors," George griped.

Nancy and her friends concluded that at first they were treated like other tourists. After a few days the shopkeepers knew who they were and they began to be recognized on the streets. At that point they noticed this baffling change in attitude.

Mr. Fisk decided one evening to treat the girls to dinner at one of Catriola Island's better restaurants. It was part of a bed and breakfast and depended on tourists for its clientele. The owner introduced himself as Jeremy Saxton and shook hands with Mr. Fisk. He wore a leather vest and his shirt sleeves were rolled up. His gray hair was pulled back into a long ponytail. The girls didn't think he made a likely figure to be a restaurant manager.

The dinner, however, was excellent and Mr. Saxton came over when they were finished to offer them free dessert. "It's in honor of our newest residents. And also, I suppose, among our oldest, since your grandfather was here so long ago."

The sun was dipping into the Pacific as they stepped out. Purple-gray clouds streaked across the gaudy orange sky. In the failing light of the driveway they heard Bess exclaim in practically a shriek, "Oh, look what they've done!"

Eggs had been smashed and smeared all over their car. The windshield was free of the yolky mess only because it had graffitti in black marker. It said, "U.S. imperialists out of West Timor now! We don't want your Yankee $ on our island!" The 'S' in 'U.S.' was written with a dollar sign.

"West Timor? They're a little confused, I think," George murmured.

"It could have been worse," said Bess.

"Well, sure, it could always be worse, but it's the thought that counts."

"Don't these ex-hippies know who pays for North American air defense?" Ivy cried out. "Do they think that just because I'm American I personally flew combat missions over West Timor?"

"I don't think we bombed West Timor," Bess pointed out.

"Wherever."

Nancy and her friends were astonished by this outburst from the normally placid Ivy.

"As an ex-hippie myself, maybe I can shed some light on the situation." Jeremy Saxton stood in the doorway of his restaurant. "Come inside for a minute."

Jeremy showed them a sheet of paper. "Copies of this have been posted up at various places around the island, or slipped under people's doors." It was a letter purportedly by a concerned citizen which reported that the new owner of the Fisk property was an American real estate developer who was planning to redevelop his own land and adjacent tracts with a massive luxury resort hotel, housing, and marina complex. The writer felt that this would destroy the rural quality of life on the island, clearcut miles of forest, require new highway construction, and overload all existing services and facilities.

"I can see how this would upset people," Mr. Fisk concluded. "It didn't seem to affect your hospitality though, Jeremy."

"Let's say that I try not to let people's business dealings change how I treat them as human beings. Besides, I'm sure this is just a crock of nonsense. I publish an island newsletter. I got a copy of this as a letter to the editor. I didn't print it, of course."

"Well, I can swear that I'm no real estate developer. Changing the peace and beauty of the island is the last thing on my mind."

Nancy instinctively picked up the letter and held it to the light. It was just a photocopy. The original looked to be printed from an inkjet printer.

"It's not the 19th century, Nancy," said Mr. Fisk, "when you could tell something from the make of paper or the ink."

"And it's not the 20th century either, when you could see the distinctive wear on the letters of a typewriter," added Nancy.

"I intend to print a story sinking this rumor. We can start by getting a statement from Mr. Fisk."

"Call me Nathaniel. We're mighty obliged to you, Jeremy."

"Somebody wants the people here to hate us," said Ivy disbelievingly. "But why?"

"Oh, I think it's something us teen detective types are familiar with." George leaned over confidentially to Ivy. "Someone wants to get us off the island."


	4. Chapter 4

Jeremy Saxton published the newsletter as he said he would, deflating the rumors and defending the Fisks. They made a renewed effort to enjoy a peaceful, pleasant vacation but the shadow of someone's antipathy still hung over them.

The girls still avoided the businesses on the island that had been rude to them. They found themselves often at _Sally's Reach_, a diner in the village. Bess liked their milkshakes, and even George could not avoid indulging in their burger and fries a couple of times. A waitress named Alice with curly red hair seemed to always be there to greet them. They got used to the way she always seemed to be chewing bubble-gum when she waited on them.

Bess liked the bulletin board in the diner as well. "It's got so much local color!" she said enthusiastically. "Here's an ad for ikebana lessons."

"The ancient oriental martial art?" inquired George.

"No, silly, it's Japanese flower arranging."

"Jeremy Saxton's wife runs a workshop on past life regression. It's next weekend. Wow, that's a steep price."

"Maybe you'll remember that in another life you left valuable stock certificates under the floorboards."

"Hmm, Thai massage," said Nancy. "That might relieve the stress of a difficult case."

"Why don't you pull off the tab of paper then, Nancy?" suggested Bess. "Look, there's a meeting of the historical society next Tuesday. We might learn something. Too bad it's on Haine Island." Bess made notes on some of the more interesting and strange messages for her journal.

The girls spent some of their time playing tennis in a public park. They didn't bring their tennis rackets but they knew that Jeremy had sports equipment that he let his guests at the bed and breakfast borrow. What struck them as curious was that the park was named after Cyrus Fisk. There was even a bronze plaque with a picture of him at the entrance.

The girls found stretches of sandy beach that were accessible from the road. They could go in the morning and enjoy a stroll with a brisk breeze, or wait and take a refreshing break from the afternoon heat. There were panoramic vistas that swept across in great horizontal bands of brown sand, green intertidal vegetation, and blue Pacific Ocean. The girls swam regularly.

On the Friday that marked the second week of their holiday on the island, Nancy, George, Bess and Ivy took a walk on the inland side of the Fisk property. Beyond the grounds of the house was a trail. Even though it was on Fisk property, islanders were accustomed to using it as a public trail. It was convenient because it began at the road, a few hundred yards from the Fisk house. The trail climbed steadily through dense forest. It was good exercise for the girls but not too strenuous. The forest was dark, with tall, straight, solemn trees. Dappled sunlight fell in unexpected patches on the forest floor. Eventually the trail led past the woods to a rounded ridge. Bright sunlight momentarily dazzled their eyes. Here, brown sandstone rock was exposed. There were patches of thin soil where clumps of grass grew.

Nancy couldn't suppress the urge to climb onto the highest point of rock and look around. Behind her the tall thicket of trees blocked everything else from view, but before her the land tumbled sharply down to the sea.

"I think this is what Horace calls 'Fisk Lookout' but it isn't on any maps," Ivy informed them. The lookout offered a wonderful view of the heavily indented and secluded coastline.

Down below, seemingly just beyond her feet, Nancy could see an oceanfront house with a dock. A large pleasure boat was moored there. "Who's house is that?" Nancy asked idly.

"That belongs to the guy who owns the general store," Ivy answered. "His name is Mr. Podmore. His wife runs the diner."

"He seems to be doing pretty well for himself," marveled George.

"That boat is so white it must hurt to see it up close," said Bess.

When the girls came back from the morning on the ridge they discovered that Ivy's father had left the house. There was a note on the kitchen table that read, "Gone to show a fellow around the property."

Some time later, George and Bess were sitting on lawn chairs, enjoying the late afternoon sun, when they saw Mr. Fisk walking on the road with a teenage boy. He was tall and lanky with short, wavy hair reddish-brown in color. Mr. Fisk waved. They waved back.

"I wish that boy wouldn't stare at us," remarked George. "He's standing there rooted to the spot, like a tall weed growing by the side of the road."

"He's not as ugly as a weed though," said Bess.

"Bess, there's no way you can see what he looks like from here! You're just being hopeful that he isn't ugly."

Mr. Fisk and his guest continued walking. In the evening they returned to the house and Mr. Fisk introduced the young man.

"This is Jesse Dawson. He's studying the birds and animals of this island. I've been showing him around the property. He wants to stay a few days. I hope no one has any objections. After all, we have more than enough land!"

"But, umm, where's he going to sleep, Dad?"

"I've brought a tent. I can camp out on your lawn." Jesse gave them all a big toothy grin. He wore glasses and had the hint of some freckles on his suntanned face.

That night the girls watched from across the lawn as Jesse struggled with his tent. Every time he tried to pull it up the structure collapsed. Jesse flopped about inside the orange and green fabric. His legs were getting tangled up in the lines that were attached to the pegs. Ivy looked chagrined that Bess and George were giggling. Nancy walked over and offered her assistance. In no time at all, with the help of the practical-minded girl detective, the tent was securely in place.

In the next couple of days the girls got used to seeing Jesse in his floppy green canvas hat across open fields or in the forest, carefully scanning the ground. The girls sometimes saw him consulting a map, or looking through his binoculars, or using a compass. He seemed to be indefatigable, his black canvas sneakers stamping on every dusty inch of every trail in that part of the island. He sometimes dropped in around noon and made himself lunch. He always appeared at dinner. At other times he kept pretty much to himself.

"So, Jesse, is this some sort of school project you're doing?" Nancy asked when they were seated at the dinner table. Jesse nodded. "What school do you go to?"

"It's the College of New Caledonia."

"That's not around here is it?" asked a puzzled Nancy.

"Oh, no," was all Jesse had to say.

"But you're not in classes now, are you?"

"No. This is sort of an ongoing school project, I guess you could say. I started it last semester and I'll continue it when I go back to school in fall. It's just that I have to do the research in the summer." Nancy nodded pleasantly.

"Just what kind of birds are you looking for on the ground?" George couldn't help asking.

"Huh?"

"You're always looking downward when we see you."

Jesse looked caught off guard. "Um, I'm looking for animals…"

"That burrow in the dirt," Ivy suggested. "Like moles. And marmots."

"That's right. Oh, and I'm looking for the western burrowing owl."

"Are there any on this island?" asked Nancy.

"I guess they're pretty rare."


	5. Chapter 5

On the second Monday of their stay the girls went to investigate the kayak rental shop. It offered not only kayaks but mountain bikes and small sailboats. The place was cluttered, with bikes and kayaks hanging from the ceiling and accessories for boaters covering the walls. Stepping forth to help them was a muscularly-built blonde man wearing a green flourescent sweatshirt and black track pants. He had curly hair that cascaded freely down. A pair of yellow and blue wraparound sunglasses worn at the top of his head did its best to prevent more hair from falling loosely.

"Hello girls, I'm Michael. What can I do for you?" He had a warm resonant voice.

"We're interested in renting kayaks." Bess came forward with a glorious smile. Michael smiled back.

"We're interrupting the story for a teeth whitener commercial, then we'll be right back, folks," muttered George.

Upon learning that the girls had not kayaked before, Michael insisted that they take the introductory lesson first. They were fitted out with bright orange life-jackets. They walked down to the wooden dock where the colorful, sleek-hulled craft were pulled alongside. Michael instructed the girls to straddle the boats and then lower themselves into the cockpit. After a three-hour lesson the girls felt comfortable with the basic paddle strokes, steering their boats and getting out of a capsized boat.

"I suppose you've kayaked all around these islands," Nancy said.

"To tell you the truth, I don't spend that much time in a kayak," Michael replied. "And I'm only here for the summer. I live back east where I go to school. I'm actually a professional boardsailer. I compete in the Canadian professional boardsailing tour. This job is great because they allow me time off to travel to events. I can also drive to the West Coast events from here."

"That sounds great," Nancy said as she lifted one end of her boat out of the water.

The next day, four kayaks were gliding out of Broad Harbour past the lines of moored sailboats. The reflections of the masts and the white hulls were oily gleams in the smooth waters. Out along the sheltered east coast of the island they went.

"It certainly is perfect weather for this-- sunny and calm and warm, but not too hot," remarked George.

"Look," exclaimed Bess. A small round head of mottled grayish-brown was bobbing out of the water. It looked at Bess with huge dark curious eyes. Water dripped from the ends of its long whiskers.

"It's a harbor seal," said Nancy. "They're not shy around boaters."

"That's the cutest face we've seen on our trip," decided Bess.

George laughed. "Don't let Michael hear you say that. And Ivy probably doesn't agree either." Ivy pretended not to hear that remark.

Even though they were young and in generally good condition it took longer than they expected because they were not practiced paddlers. All of them had their jackets off and stowed in the watertight bow compartment of their boats. George could have gone faster but she was too considerate of the others to push the pace. Bess was already beginning to complain about her sore arms when they spotted Horace Eberhart's house.

The house appeared to be perched precariously on a rocky ledge overlooking the water. Steep wooden stairs led from the driveway and the road to the house. Another set of wooden stairs went down to the water's edge. There, Horace had constructed a dock at which his boat was tied up. The boat was about eighteen feet long and had an open deck except for a small canopy over the wheel.

From Horace's house they had to round a long rocky finger of land that jutted out into the ocean. On the other side was a secluded cove where they could see the Podmores' house. It was the only house on the water that they noticed. The girls came close enough to admire the Podmores' motorboat. It was as gleaming white as they expected from their distant view. The thirty foot cruiser was called 'Just Desserts'. The Podmores' house was a modern design in stained wood with immense windows through which they could enjoy their waterfront view. There was a large satellite dish on the roof.

The kayakers cut across the cove. As they rounded the headland and put the view of the Podmores' property behind them, they thought it was a good time to stop for lunch. Here was a wide stretch of sandy beach. After the rocky, steep shores they had paddled along all morning this place seemed refreshingly airy and open. It seemed all the more remote because there was a line of white beachfront houses visible, absurdly postcard small, in the distance. The girls carried their boats some distance from the water's edge to leave them under the shade of trees. They had been told that sunlight was damaging to the plastic hulls. Once they had removed their bags from the kayaks they ran off gleefully like little children, drawn to the sparkling pale blue waters.

After eating the lunches they had packed, Nancy, George and Bess were lying on blankets in the sand, water bottles and sunscreen ready at hand. Ivy was was at the edge of the surf.

"So what do you think of Jesse?" Nancy.

"Oh, he's alright," said Bess good-naturedly. "Not my type though. Too geeky."

"He seems to enjoy our company."

"Definitely. He's always happy to be around us. He likes the attention, I suppose. But he doesn't show any favoritism!" Bess giggled.

"Ivy seems to have taken a liking to him," Nancy observed.

"I can't say I'm happy for her," said George. "He's conceited and he's dishonest," was George's stern opinion.

"What do you mean by 'dishonest'?" asked Nancy.

"Well, I'd like to know what he's doing on the island, and why he's tramping all over Mr. Fisk's land. You'd have to be pretty dense to believe that he's doing wildlife research."

"Shall we try to get the truth out of him?" Nancy suggested. Bess and George agreed.

They lost all track of time in that unchanging world of water, sand, wind and sky. At last, exhausted and happy, they retreated to their boats. Nancy's eye was so practiced at observing easily missed details that not even the long intoxicating spell rendered her incapable of noticing something amiss with the boats. They had been shifted ever so slightly. She stopped on the spot.

"What's the matter, Nancy?" asked Bess in a voice which did not seem the least bit concerned.

Nancy turned over one of the boats. There was a small, clean hole through its bottom. A long stalk of grass had been threaded through the hole. Nancy supposed that it was placed there so that they would notice the hole and not try to put the boat in water. One of the other boats had an identical hole in it.

"Oh, no!" cried Ivy, "another childish prank. These islanders are beginning to really annoy me."

"Don't jump to conclusions, Ivy," said Bess. "That's something I've learned from being in Nancy's company so long. "It might not have anything to do with that developer warning letter. I think that's been settled."

"Yeah, but whoever wrote the letter is still out there," said George.

"Please don't disturb the ground near the kayaks," Nancy warned sharply, "there might be footprints." However, the ground was too hard and a diligent search revealed nothing.

So their kayak expedition ended disappointingly. They phoned the rental shop for assistance. It was an hour before the shop sent a van to fetch the girls and the boats. The driver grumbled that Michael had borrowed the van for personal use. Back at the shop Michael told them that the damage was easily repaired but he would still have to charge them for the time and effort required. He seemed more concerned for the girls' safety.

"Someone is giving you a warning. Next time he might not be so considerate of your safety." Michael gave them a long, serious look that struck Nancy as being out of keeping with his usual boardsailer dude demeanor.


	6. Chapter 6

That evening the girls managed to corner Jesse as he watched a _Simpsons_ rerun. "Look, Jesse, it's time you were honest with us. Mr. Fisk is offering you hospitality because he thinks you're on some sort of school natural history project, but you're not, are you?" Nancy questioned him with her eyes intense, revealing her natural indignation at dishonesty.

"No, I'm not. I'm sorry about that." At first his eyes were downcast, then he grinned mischievously. "I'll tell you why I came to the island. There's this history book of Catriola Island I read. It said that a prospector who came back from the gold rush hid a bag of gold nuggets on this island and never had a chance to spend it."

"Wait, I know," interrupted Bess. "You mean the prospector who built the cabin over there. You think he hid a bag of gold somewhere on this land?"

"The book said that people thought he had hidden it in a place called Bat Cave, but the book didn't say where this was and I can't find it on any map. The people I've asked haven't heard of it."

"Ooh, bats! I hate bats." Bess shuddered. "They get tangled up in your hair."

"That's just a myth. And they don't drink blood either. At least not any of the ones around here."

Jesse continued. "Now that I've apologized, we're all in this together, right? I mean, I'm willing to let you decide how to divide up the shares, if we look for it together."

George frowned. "You wanted to keep the gold all to yourself and not tell Mr. Fisk even though it's on his land. Now that you've been found out you want us to work as a team."

Nancy had difficulty deciding what to do. "I don't know. If there's gold on this property then we have to look for it. Mr. Fisk has a claim to it. If we kick you off the property and look for the gold ourselves, that wouldn't be fair to you. If you stayed, frankly I don't trust you to search by yourself. So I guess I want to find the gold first and worry about shares later. Does everyone agree to that?"

"I think we should forgive and forget, and work as a team," was Ivy's opinion. Bess was willing to give Jesse another chance. George shrugged and didn't argue.

"The majority rules then," concluded Nancy. Jesse reached out to shake the girls' hands in turn.

Now that this was decided, Nancy felt herself drawn into the mystery. "Does the book say for certain that Bat Cave was on the prospector's property."

"No, it doesn't even say that. It could be anywhere on the island, I suppose. But it makes more sense that it would be on his own property or close to it, since you wouldn't want to hide a treasure where you would have trouble getting to it yourself."

"If anyone knows this part of the island, it would be Horace. I think we should ask him if he knows anything."

In those days, Horace was often to be found around the Fisks' house. He had found people to install the new bathroom appliances and did some of the work himself. This time they saw Horace standing outside the upstairs bathroom, watching the plumber attach the pipes to the sink.

"Horace, you were telling us about the prospector, remember?" said Ivy. "What do you know about this story of the cave where he hid the gold?"

Horace frowned. "That's all just a load of hot air," he said testily. "It's just a legend. I wouldn't pay any attention to it."

"Well, that was pretty abrupt," said George later.

"Oh, he's just in a bad mood because the sink he was expecting didn't get delivered.The ferry from Haine was out of service," explained Ivy.


	7. Chapter 7

After all the paddling the girls had done they had no trouble falling asleep, all except Nancy. Whether it was the fatigue in her arms making her uncomfortable or she was troubled by thoughts of the act of vandalism inflicted upon them, she didn't fall asleep right away, and then she didn't really feel sleepy. She rolled out of bed carefully so as not to disturb Ivy. She slipped on some sweat pants and an oversized t-shirt and wandered down the stairs.

She was going to turn on the kitchen lights but became aware of the moonlight filtering into the room. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She inched the window open to feel the draft of cool air. Nancy had discovered that in this place however hot it was in the afternoon all the heat from the land seemed to radiate upward to the fathomless dark sky each night and be lost. As she looked out the window she was impressed by the hush that fell over the nighttime world. Only the chirping of insects and cries of distant birds could be heard. Calm moonlight glimmered on the lawn. The lights of their neighbors' houses could not be seen, and there were no streetlights. It felt strange and lovely to be in genuine night, she thought.

Just then she saw two circles of flame sprout up on the lawn. She could barely see a dark figure scampering into the woods. The flames were near Jesse's tent! There was no time to lose. Nancy switched on the lights and ran up the stairs to wake Mr. Fisk. As he told her he would be up shortly, she raced to the back door and outside. She ran to the tap on the outside wall and turned on the lawn sprinkler. She didn't even know if this would reach the fire but she had to try it while she went to rescue Jesse.

Frantically she rushed across the lawn. She shouted Jesse's name as loudly as she could. Just as she got to the tent he stuck his groggy head out the opening. "Thank goodness you're awake," Nancy panted. She paused only long enough to assure herself that Jesse had no difficulty extricating himself from the tent. "I'm going to get the hose nozzle," were all the words she spared for him before she rushed off again, this time to the garden shed.

"Oh, you idiot," she admonished herself when she reached the shed. "I forgot to bring a flashlight." It was almost pitch dark inside the shed and she had to find the shelves with her hands. It seemed like a clock was ticking inside her head as she groped along each shelf. Finally she found it and hurried to the sprinkler.

A wide area of grass was now blackened and smoldering. Thick gray smoke wafted up from it. A narrow border of orange flames was spreading outward. Nancy remembered that it had not rained since she had arrived on the island. She ran through the cold shock of the sprinkler shower hitting her body and grabbed the sprinkler. The light of the fire made it easy to undo the hose. Only with the nozzle in her hand and the hose attached did she allow herself to feel relief. Jesse was now standing in the center of the lawn. Nancy became aware of the presence of others. Mr. Fisk, Horace and a middle-aged man she recognized as the proprietor of the Broad Harbour general store were also on the lawn. Nancy could douse the edge of the fire and prevent it from spreading but the water pressure was low and the burning patch continued to smolder and occasionally send up tongues of flame.

Nancy looked up to see Horace staring at her intently. The light of the fire flickered on his face, casting black shadows from his features. Nancy lowered her gaze. For the brief moment that she had made eye contact she sensed a deep loneliness and longing. Not only was the attention so unexpected but she felt that there must be some mistake. He must be looking past her at some other woman. Gradually her self-composure returned. She told herself she mustn't do anything to encourage him.

"It's a good thing you were awake, Nancy," said Mr. Fisk. "There's no telling how far the fire could have spread given a little more time." He glanced at Jesse's tent and his face looked tired and strained.

"It could still spread," Mr. Podmore pointed out with alarm. "Burning ashes could blow from the fire into those trees. That would be a disaster. Luckily the wind is calm tonight. I'll go get the fire extinguisher from my boat. Horace, you've got one too, don't you?" Nancy saw Mr. Podmore glance anxiously in the direction of the prospector's cabin. Horace reacted as if he were being awakened from a dream. He nodded and the two hurried off wordlessly towards the road. Nancy realized it wasn't late, only eleven o'clock, but wondered how the two men had managed to arrive so quickly.

Out of the corner of her eye Nancy noticed a light on the road. It had to belong to someone walking alongside the road, pointed downward to illuminate the ground in front of them. Nancy thought it was curious that anyone would be walking along this quiet stretch of road at this time of night. The figure was screened by trees but for a moment the beam of the light was raised and Nancy thought she saw longish blonde hair. With the risk that the fire could flare up again she could not even consider following the figure.

"Thank goodness you're alright," exclaimed Mr. Fisk to Jesse who looked bewildered as he joined them.

Jesse seemed too shocked to say anything at first, then he mumbled, "The smell of the smoke was so strong, it woke me up, I think."

A half an hour later they were seated in the kitchen with the fire extinguished, and Mr. Fisk could joke, "I guess this doesn't rank up there with your usual exploits, rescuing kidnap victims from armed gunmen, saving pilots from planes crashed into the sea. Putting out a lawn fire won't land you in the headlines."

Nancy smiled weakly. "I'm sure I would rather not be the subject of newspaper headlines." She turned to the other two men. "I was wondering how the two of you got to the scene so soon," she asked, as if it were casual conversation.

"I saw the light from the fire at my place, so I went to investigate," said Horace. He was acting sullen and avoided Nancy's gaze.

"And I happened to be driving by and saw this young lady fending off the flames by her lonesome," said Mr. Podmore.

Nancy was still puzzled. She didn't think it was possible to see Horace's property from the lawn, and she didn't remember hearing Mr. Podmore's truck going past. She would need to get out first thing in the morning to examine the remains left by the fire.

Everyone in the room had to know that the fire had been deliberately set. It could not have started naturally or by accident. No one was willing to say anything, however. Perhaps they did not wish to alarm Jesse any further.

Jesse was grateful. Nancy could see it in the shy smile he gave her, but he felt awkward to say more. Nancy quite understood and was glad not to hear more glowing praise.

"Mr. Podmore," Jesse asked, "are you the A.J. Podmore who wrote a history of the island?"

"Why yes, it's only a modest little booklet, but I'm glad you appreciate it."

"I have some questions I would really like to ask you," said Jesse, his face glowing with enthusiasm.

"I think it can wait until tomorrow," decided Mr. Fisk. "It's getting late and these men need to get home."

Nancy needed to shower and change her clothes. "There's always a downside to saving lives," she thought.

Jesse had moved his belongings into the livingroom of the house and slept in a sleeping bag on the carpet.

The other girls had slept through the whole incident. There didn't seem any point in waking them. As Nancy slid into bed she was wondering whether the actions taken against them were all intended to prevent them from finding the gold. But the residents of the island had had ten years with the house empty to uncover the gold. It didn't make sense. All she was certain, Nancy thought, was that the danger of the incidents was rising, and all it would have taken tonight was a gust of wind to be lethal. She couldn't help reflecting that the island seemed such a calm, pleasant paradise yet there were ugly human emotions at work here. Whether it was fear, greed, hatred, or anger, Nancy wished she knew the exact motivations behind these attacks.


	8. Chapter 8

The next day, Nancy recounted the events of the fire to her concerned friends as they walked out to the lawn.

"I wish you had woken me," said Bess. "I want to write about it from first-hand experience."

"What are you talking about, Bess?"

"Oh, she's keeping notes on the case for her journal," explained George.

"Now I can't stay on the front lawn. It just reeks of smoke out here." Jesse didn't show it but Nancy wondered if he wasn't just a bit concerned over his own safety.

In the area consumed by the fire they could see two blackened but intact sticks. "Fortunately, whoever threw those aimed well away from the tent." Nancy turned to Jesse. "They only wanted to scare you, not kill you."

"Either that or they have bad aim." Jesse bravely managed to make light of things.

"Do you think it could have been a person you asked about Bat Cave?"

"Maybe, but people have seen me walking on the trails, looking at the ground. They could have guessed."

"I don't know about you but I'm not so easily put off a case," said a determined George. "And neither is Bess. She's watched every episode of 'Scooby Doo' dozens of times. She doesn't scare easily."

Back inside, Nancy returned to their discussion of the missing gold. "So, it turns out the writer of the booklet Jesse mentioned is our neighbor, Mr. Podmore."

"Oh, I've been so dumb!" Jesse grimaced. "I should have thought of looking Podmore up. It couldn't have been hard to find him in a place as small as this. He might know more than he put in the book."

"He's also president of the island historical society," said Bess. "I saw a notice for a meeting pinned up on a bulletin board."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" asked George. "Let's go see him."

The girls were already acquainted with the Broad Harbour General Store. They had raided its ice cream cooler when they felt the need to cool off after a hot afternoon in the sun. "They've got mango-kiwifruit creamsicles, my favorite!" enthused George.

"And double chocolate fudge ice cream sandwiches!" added Bess.

The store was surprisingly deep. Past the long aisles of groceries were shelves piled to the ceiling with hardware. Horace had told them that the island residents usually planned grocery shopping trips to neighboring Haine Island where there was a conventional supermarket, but with waits for the ferry that would take most of the day.

Nancy asked one of the girls at the counter if Mr. Podmore was available. He soon came out. Mr. Podmore was a man in his fifties, with short, reddish-brown hair combed over a shiny bald area at the top of his head. He liked wearing dress short-sleeve shirts that revealed his muscular forearms.

"Hello. It's Nancy, isn't it? What can I do for you?"

"We had some questions to ask you about local history."

"You've come to the right person. I'm president of the Southern Islands Historical Society, you know. You might think that a tiny island like this wouldn't have much of a history to speak of, but I think this community has a right to take pride in its past. There were some strong-willed pioneers who began settlement on this island. They were rugged individualists, I guess you could say. There aren't many people like that nowadays." Mr. Podmore was evidently only getting warmed up on his favorite subject. He leaned back on his high stool. The girls looked around for a place to sit in case this was going to be a long lecture, which it showed signs of becoming, but were disappointed they couldn't see any. Only Ivy managed to climb up onto the end of a counter. George leaned awkwardly against the shelves and pretended to be comfortable. Jesse was too focused on what was being said to give a thought to discomfort. Mr. Podmore carried on. "Of course this was always a pleasant, mild place. It wasn't like bunkering down for a winter in minus forty degree temperatures! No, but it was a bit isolated."

"Mr. Podmore," Ivy interrupted, "do you know about this prospector who left a sack of gold nuggets on the island?"

Mr. Podmore chuckled. "So, you've already heard that story, huh? The famous Orville Gillespie, a prospector who came north for the Klondike Gold Rush, in the 1880's. Anyway, it was said that he made a fortune. He came back to settle on the mainland but after a few years decided to live on this island. Maybe he got used to the simple life while up north. So he was one of the early settlers here. Didn't the young fellow mention that I wrote a booklet on the subject of the early settlement of Catriola Island? It's for sale on the ferries, if you're interested. Anyway, Gillespie was a frugal sort, apparently, and he lived a very plain life. I guess that's why people thought he must still have had a fortune in gold when he died. He didn't have any children, at least none that people knew of."

"So what happened to his gold?"

"Nobody knows. Say, you're a Fisk, aren't you?"

"I'm Ivy Fisk."

"So, your father is the grandson of Cyrus Fisk?" Ivy nodded. "Orville Gillespie's cabin is on your family's property," he muttered, as much to himself as to the girls.

"What about the cave where he hid the gold?"

Mr. Podmore grinned. "Well, if anybody knew where that was, it would have been Cyrus Fisk. He spent almost all of his life here."

"But even if he knew, how does that help us?" asked Ivy.

"Maybe he left a map. Maybe he hoped that some day his great-granddaughter could come along and find the treasure."

It seemed to a good time for Jesse and the girls to thank Mr. Podmore for his time and excuse themselves. They walked back to Ivy's house.

"Did you see the color of his hair? If that's natural, I'm Cleopatra," said George.

"You should have gone to that past life regression thing. Maybe you were," Nancy joked.

Jesse didn't look particularly pleased with the interview. "I don't think he's telling us everything. He's having a little fun with us. Can't you tell by that grin?"


	9. Chapter 9

"There isn't much left of my great-grandfather's," Ivy mused. "We told Horace years ago that he should clear away any old stuff that wasn't of value. I remember once he sent a package to us with old photos and letters. There were some mementoes of the Second World War. That was about it."

"I suppose those are at home?" questioned Nancy.

"I'm afraid so."

"I doubt if it makes any difference. I don't want to throw too much cold water on this, but it doesn't make much sense to me. If Cyrus had found the treasure why would he leave it in the ground? Why not take it and put it somewhere safe?"

They saw Horace's truck parked outside _Sally's Reach_, the diner. "Why don't we ask Horace?" wondered Ivy.

"Well for one thing," Jesse was quick to reply, "he acted pretty surly the last time we talked about it." Still, they found themselves walking across the road and through the diner's glass doors. They looked around and found Horace's table.

"Hey kids, how's the treasure hunt going?" Horace smiled amiably at them.

"I didn't think you were interested," said Jesse coldly. "You seemed to think it was a waste of time."

"Oh, well, I was being too hasty there. I didn't mean to sound discouraging."

"Do you know if Cyrus left any map showing the location of the cave?" Ivy inquired.

"No, I don't recall seeing anything like that. But maybe you should look through the house."

They walked the winding, dusty road back to the house.

After dinner, the doorbell rang. Ivy opened the door to be greeted by a short, plump woman with a large head of frizzy gray hair and large spectacles. Ivy recognized her as the woman behind the cash register in the diner.

"I'm Sally, Mr. Podmore's wife. I know it's a little belated but I wanted to welcome you to the island and to the neighborhood. Alfred and I are just down the road from you." Ivy noticed that the woman was carrying a large white shopping bag in one hand and a covered pie plate in the other.

Mr. Fisk came to the door and immediately welcomed Mrs. Podmore in. Soon coffee was being made and the strawberry-rhubarb pie offered by Mrs. Podmore was being cut. No sooner had Mrs. Podmore sat down on the sofa than she remembered she had brought a bouquet of cut flowers.

"Do you have a vase, girls? I took the liberty of bringing a vase in case you didn't have one that was suitable. I hope you don't mind." Mrs. Podmore then went into the kitchen to fill the vase despite Nancy's protestations that they could manage very well and she should rest on the sofa, being a guest in the house.

With everyone bustling about, and not being able to agree on what was the best spot for the flowers, and Mrs. Podmore's long and meandering stories about her husband's boyhood on the island, and their son Kenneth's skiing accident, and their daughter Eliza's wedding, the evening seemed to pass by quickly for everyone except Jesse.

Jesse was, of course, impatient to follow up on the suggestion from Mr. Podmore. Mrs. Podmore gave them two-for-one coupons to _Sally's Reach_. "I wish I could invite you to dine for free, you being neighbors and all, but half the people on the island are our friends and if they all ate for free, well, we'd be out of business," she said. Finally, Mrs. Podmore said her good-byes and Mr. Fisk retired upstairs.

Jesse took command of the situation. "We won't disturb Mr. Fisk but we can search all the other rooms in the house to see if there's anything of interest. Ivy, you take your room, George the other bedroom, Bess the kitchen, Nancy the living room, and I'll do the den. Whoever finishes first can look in the basement." It did not take them long to scour the rooms for any items that might be significant.

"I'm still not clear what we're looking for," grumbled George. "I mean, the furniture comes from grandfather Cyrus, but I can't imagine him leaving some kind of secret message in the sofa."

When they were all gathered together again in the living room, Nancy gestured towards the bookcase. "I don't think Horace bought all these books and stocked this bookcase for you. These must have been left from Cyrus Fisk's time."

Without need for further prompting they began scanning the shelves. Seeing nothing like a journal or handwritten book, everyone began pulling stacks of books off the shelves. They sat down on the floor or in the seats and leafed through the volumes one at a time. The books were upended and the pages fanned in case there were any loose papers.

"They're mostly just old gardening books and home repair stuff," complained Bess.

"Look, here's an old copy of _The Adventures of Tom Sawyer_," said George.

"That's interesting," said Nancy. "It's the only children's book I've seen here."

"Hey, isn't there an adventure in a cave in that book?" Bess remarked.

Everyone turned their attention to the battered and worn copy of Twain's immortal work of juvenile literature. George rapidly flipped through the yellowing pages. "Here! At the back. Something's been written on a blank page."

They looked over George's shoulders. The message read, "From the high point find the bare tree. From the tree walk 32 paces south, then 15 paces east. Look down."

"Well that seems straightforward enough," Jesse said eagerly. "The 'high point' must be Fisk's Lookout. Tomorrow morning we'll go get it! I've got a compass, and we better bring a spade."

"I know everybody's excited to find the gold," Nancy cautioned, "but remember that someone has been making attempts to keep us away. We better be on our guard."


	10. Chapter 10

"Okay," Jesse said, "here we are on Fisk Lookout. It's a bright summer morning, a very fine day for the excavation of Bat Cave. I'm delighted to be able to share this historical occasion with…"

"Come on, cut that out. Let's get on with it," said Bess good-humoredly. She stood leaning on the spade. Others were carrying various garden implements. Ivy was looking all around her with a worried expression.

"Will do. That must be the bare tree over there." He pointed to a tall dead tree with branches that turned almost straight up close to the trunk, giving it the appearance of a multi-tined fork. No one seemed to disagree. "I'll count off the paces according to the instructions."

This was easier read than accomplished as he had to work his way down feet first on portions of the slope that were exposed rock, and could only count paces properly where there was more of a steady incline. The instructions took him off the bald top of the ridge into an area overgrown with bushes.

"It should be right here," he shouted to the others as they followed him down. "I don't see anything though."

Nancy said, "There could be a different bare tree meant, or the paces weren't accurate."

"I don't see how you can have more accurate paces coming down a hill like that," Jesse said irritably. "I'm sure we've got this right." Nancy watched as he bent over to look at the ground and stepped over a bush. He gave a loud "Ohhh" as if he were on an amusement park roller-coaster and disappeared from sight.

"Jesse!" screamed Nancy. Ivy gave a scream too, like a fainter and shorter echo. Nancy looked over the bush where Jesse had stepped, watching her own feet carefully. There was a crack in the rock four or five feet wide. It was well concealed by the bushes, and right up to the edge of the opening small plants grew.

"I'm okay!" shouted Jesse in happy exultation. "We've found it!" He had not fallen deeply. As Nancy reached down he could easily grasp her hand. "It slopes a bit, then there's a level spot where I landed, then it continues down and into the hillside."

As they lowered themselves one by one into the darkness they were immersed in cool air. They had to move alternately crawling on their hands and knees and walking in a crouch, as the ceiling of the cave was too low to allow them to stand up straight. The cave was narrow and sinuous, like an animal's burrow. The floor of the cave had been eroded into smooth contours. It was the same sandstone that was exposed outside on the ridge and nowhere could the young people find any spot that had been dug into. The walls looked the same as the floor. It was not long before they had swept their flashlights over the entire interior of the cave.

Nancy leaned against a smooth area of wall and said, "I'm afraid this cave is empty."

After twenty minutes, Bess could say, "I wish there were bats here. At least it would be more interesting." The grand total of their discoveries was some cigarette butts, a bubble gum wrapper, and some scattered chicken bones.

"O Great Detective, what do the cigarette butts, the bubble-gum wrapper, and, of course, the enigmatic chicken bones tell you?" Jesse turned to Nancy.

"It tells me that we're not the first people here." After the snickering had ended, Nancy continued. "That bubble-gum wrapper looks like it could have been here for years, decades even. You can be sure if kids know about a secret place it doesn't stay secret very long."

"If people have forgotten about this cave," George added, "it would be because it's such a boring cave."

"What a disappointment," said Bess. "And I was going to call this case, 'The Secret of Bat Cave'."

"Oh, you and your journal," said George with a laugh.

"But why would your great-grandfather write down directions to a cave that's empty!" Jesse said in exasperation.

"Maybe he was keen on bats," offered Bess.

"But there aren't any bats here!"

"Besides," reasoned George, "he didn't need the directions for himself. Once he found it he knew where it was, I mean, close enough to find it again. He must have written the message for someone else who was keen on bats."

"There aren't any bats!" Jesse fairly shouted.

"Now, there's no need to raise your voice at us, young man," Bess quipped.

"Stop it about the bats, already," said Ivy sharply.

"Maybe the gold was here but someone beat us to it," suggested George.

"The gold may have been here at one time," Nancy reasoned, "but not recently. There were small plants growing at the edge of the opening. We trod all over them going in and out of the cave. They were fine when we got here. That means the cave has not been disturbed for some time."

"Good work, Nancy," said a supportive Bess.

"So maybe the gold was removed years ago," George argued.

"That's possible, but why write the message? Why not just hand over the gold? I'm thinking that Cyrus didn't write the directions," said Nancy.

"Now that I think about it, Podmore was the one who suggested we look for something from Cyrus Fisk," grumbled Jesse.

Something dawned on George. "Mrs. Podmore came over to the house with the strawberry-rhubarb pie. She could have slipped the book into the bookcase when no one was looking."

"You mean Podmore wrote the directions? So the Podmores manufactured this trick to play on us. And we completely fell for that mysterious message in the back of the book trick. It's like something out of a children's detective story."

"I'm sure he didn't do it as a 'trick'," Bess argued. "He just wanted to help us. He didn't want us to search all over the island, wasting our time. That would have been a whole lot more frustrating."

"Bess is right," said Ivy. "There just isn't any treasure. That's not Mr. Podmore's fault. This way we find that out sooner instead of later."

"But he could have easily told us," muttered Jesse.

"Yeah, but we wouldn't have believed him, would we?" Ivy looked around and took the absence of a response from her friends to signify agreement. "And if he had given us directions to the cave, and we found nothing, we would have figured he was deliberately leading us off the track."

"He could still be doing that, of course," observed Nancy. "I don't know about the rest of you but this cave excavation is over for me. I need to take a shower and get this dust off me." She rubbed the reddish dust that was on her hands.


	11. Chapter 11

"I couldn't help noticing that you were turning your head, looking all around, this morning at the cave," Nancy said gently to Ivy.

"I guess I was thinking of those nasty pranks that were played on us. I thought that as we got close to the gold someone might do something drastic. But I also had the feeling we were being watched."

"Did you hear anything? You had the expression of someone straining to listen."

"I thought I did." Ivy smiled in surprise at Nancy's observation. "Just some rustling in the bushes."

"I've been meaning to have a better look around Fisk Lookout. I'll go and see if Bess and George are willing to go."

When they were back at the top of the ridge, Nancy instructed them to spiral out, trying their best to cover all the ground as they worked their way downward.

It was not long before George came swiftly but silently up to Nancy whispering to her that she had seen something. "There's a tent between a bunch of trees. We better not make any noise in case there's someone inside."

Nancy and George quickly informed the other girls and they gathered in a spot concealed by bushes. Nancy gazed at the site indicated by George. Nestled between pine trees, obscured by leafy undergrowth, was a small tent. It was covered in a camouflage design. On the side facing them was a small lateral opening near the top, which revealed a dark interior.

"It looks like a blind," said George in a whisper.

"Maybe Jesse set it up when he was watching wildlife," suggested Bess.

"But he wasn't watching wildlife!" objected George.

"Sh, you two. I'm going to resort to that old cliché." Nancy picked up a rock and tossed it near the blind. There was no sound or movement. "Well, I think we should chance investigating further. After all, we're not doing anything suspicious, we're just on a walk."

The interior of the blind was empty. In fact it was scrupulously clear of debris that would indicate it had been in use. There was only room for one person to enter and stand upright. Nancy went in to examine the ground which was soft and carpeted in brown, dried pine needles.

"Aren't we supposed to find a button or something that would tell us who used this blind?" asked Ivy.

"Yes, or a gum wrapper, and Nancy would hold it up and say, 'Aha, only so-and-so chews this brand of gum!'" said George.

"Someone has been very careful to take away all their equipment and any garbage they may have produced, so that there's very little physical evidence." Nancy continued to bend over the dirt floor of the tent.

"Notice she didn't say 'no evidence'," George pointed out.

"That's right. There are three indentations in the soil. It likely indicates a tripod, and whatever was mounted on the tripod was heavy, maybe a telescope or a night vision scope, or a camera or all three. It's obvious that whoever set up the blind was interested in this clear view down to the shoreline.

"There are footprints here. They aren't very clear but they seem to all have the same pattern. It looks like a hiking boot. That rules out Jesse. You never see him wear anything other than those canvas sneakers."

"Oh, look," said Ivy excitedly, "there's a hair on the outside of the tent, just above the entrance flap. It's long and dark."


	12. Chapter 12

"What's on the agenda today?" Bess asked lazily as she did her morning stretching exercises.

"I think when Mr. Podmore goes to open the store, we're going to have a look around his property," Nancy answered.

"Don't tell me you still suspect poor Mr. Podmore!"

Nancy raised her eyebrows but said nothing.

They ate breakfast hurriedly, eager to carry on their investigations. Jesse was not to be found. Apparently he had left very early, without informing anyone of his intentions.

"So much for being a team," said George.

The four girls were soon on the curving road that joined the Fisk residence to the Podmores' property.

"I wish we could have brought our spade with us," said Nancy. "It's just that if we met Mr. Podmore driving past it would be a little tricky explaining why we were carrying it."

"We could say we were going clam digging," offered George with a giggle.

"Anyway, I've got the portable one that came with the camping gear."

When they approached the Podmores' house they stepped off the road. Fortunately, there was enough dense shrubbery and trees to offer concealment.

"Well, make yourselves comfortable, girls," Nancy suggested. "It's only nine o'clock so Mr. Podmore shouldn't have gone to open his store yet, but we don't know if he has any place else to go this morning. It might be close to an hour before he leaves."

"So explain again why we're harassing poor… our unfortunate victim, Mr. Podmore." This was Bess asking, but the others were just as bemused.

Nancy smiled. She proceeded to explain. "Think of it this way. What's the difference between us finding the cave and being disappointed and us not knowing where the cave is?"

"If we didn't know where the cave was we'd be spending a whole lot of time looking."

"Precisely. And we'd be concentrating on Ivy's land, and in particular Fisk's Lookout. We'd be crawling over the rocks for days and days. You know that the ridge provides just a perfect spot to view Mr. Podmore's house and his dock."

"So the whole purpose of the trick was to prevent us from snooping on his activities, of a secret and no doubt nefarious nature." George grinned triumphantly.

"'Nefarious', yeah, something like that." Nancy smiled in turn. "He doesn't mind if we spend time at the cave for a day or two, but after that he wants us to be lying on the beach."

"What's on your mind, Ivy?" asked Bess, noticing the thoughtful expression on her friend's face.

"We were all thinking that the attempts to scare us off were to prevent us from finding the gold. But in fact it must have been Podmore who wanted us off the island as soon as possible to protect his criminal activities. When we didn't show any signs of leaving he thought up this scheme with the cave."

"Excellent, Ivy," enthused George. "We've got to bring you along on all our investigations."

"But there could be an innocent explanation," said Bess.

"There you go defending the guy again," said George.

"Bess is right," Nancy pointed out. "We have to find some evidence on him or all we have is guesswork."

"I wish I knew where Jesse got to," said Ivy.

"He's a responsible adult," noted Nancy. "We can't worry about him."

"Oh sure, 'responsible adult'!" was the response that came from George.

At a quarter to ten, Podmore's green truck roared past where the girls were in concealment. Mr. and Mrs. Podmore were both in the cab.

"He seems to be operating on schedule," said Bess.

George explained. "As far as he knows, his scheme worked perfectly, and we're all sitting around trying to find something else to amuse ourselves. So we'll let him think that as long as we can."

"By the way," said Ivy, "yesterday Horace asked me how our treasure hunt was going. I told him what a disappointment it was."

The girls stretched their legs. Nancy gave them their instructions. "I want you to walk slowly beside the road on either side, looking for any spot that might have been disturbed by digging recently."

The road was lined with slender trees. These were not the towering conifers of the forest but deciduous trees that had grown in quickly where the road construction had cleared space to either side of the road. Blackberry bushes grew thickly. There was no opening that looked very promising as a place to dig. It only took the girls a few minutes to reach the point where the long, steep driveway from the Podmores' house intersected the road. They carried on past this point for a hundred yards or so before Nancy called a halt to the proceedings.

"I really don't see anything. Well, I didn't think he would take the risk of digging so close to the road, even though there's so little traffic here. This place is so lush! It's really difficult to get past these trees and thickets without a trail. I saw one back there."

On the other side of the road opposite the driveway was a dirt path. The path couldn't have led very far because, of course, on the inland side of the road the rock slope rose steeply to Fisk's Lookout. The girls followed Nancy on the path. In minutes they were out of sight of the road.

George saw a patch of ground that was bare of plants. The exposed soil was also darker. She jogged over to stand on it. Immediately she felt it sagging beneath her. Nancy did not need an invitation to hastily assemble the spade in her small backpack.

"If there's going to be a dead body under there you'd better tell me or I'm going to scream." Ivy looked a bit wary.

Nancy smiled. "I doubt if it's going to be anything so dramatic."

Rapidly, the thin layer of loose soil covering a rectangular pit the size of a bed was scooped out.

"Shirts!" cried Bess. "Men's dress shirts, a pit full of them. I suppose this is what you were expecting, Nancy?"

"Not exactly, but I'm not surprised." She had to laugh, looking at the disbelieving faces of her friends. "Let's cover this stuff back up and get out of here. Then I'll explain."

The four companions retraced their steps. Along the way, Nancy revealed her thoughts. "You might think that this island is an isolated location, but only a little ways offshore, to the west, is a major shipping lane. Freighters going to major North American west coast ports pass by here all the time. Some of those freighters will make an 'unscheduled delivery'. A crate will slip overboard, a crate that contains something, shall we say, not on any official documents. A boat that's been waiting will speed towards the crate, hook it, probably rope it to the boat and drag it back to shore. It's important to get out of open water as quickly as possible in case there are any patrol boats or helicopters in the area. Once in a sheltered location, away from prying eyes, there's a chance to break open the crate, remove its contraband contents and dispose of the container."

"How do you know this stuff?" asked Ivy admiringly.

"It's my business to keep on top of news and information from the world of crime," Nancy replied casually. So accustomed was she to her investigative pursuits she often forgot how odd it must seem to someone new.

"Whoa, these are deeper waters than I expected," said George. The others could only nod in agreement. "But why not just dump the merchandise into the water?"

"I don't know, honestly," replied Nancy. "That's certainly the first thing that came to my mind. There could be reasons for it. These shirts may have come in plastic bags originally. They couldn't just be tossed into the water because they would have floated. Maybe even outside his house he was worried about being watched. He decided to bury them in the woods to be safe. I guess we're lucky."

"But what about the smuggled stuff? That wasn't back in the pit."

"No, it could have been, but Mr. Podmore is too cautious. He's either hidden it somewhere else or he's already passed it along."

"Then we still don't really have evidence, nothing that we could have him arrested for." George bit her lip as she thought.

"Nancy, do you know where he's hidden it?" Bess asked.

"I have an idea but it's only a guess."

"So you aren't going to keep us in suspense, are you?" said Bess.


	13. Chapter 13

"On the night the lawn caught fire I saw Mr. Podmore taking anxious glances at the cabin. At the time I thought he was worried about a historic building going up in flames, but now I'm guessing he had something stashed in there. There's another thing too. We thought that the fire was another scare tactic but maybe the intent was to get Jesse off the front lawn where he was close enough to see the cabin."

"But there's hardly anything in there!" Bess objected.

The girls were back on Ivy's property. Ivy went to borrow the key to the cabin from her father. Nancy said, "I'm afraid I'm out of clues. We'll just have to search all the likely spots. There aren't very many. Ivy, you go and check to see if the wardrobe has a false bottom or top. George, look for a secret space in the walls. Don't forget the bottom molding. Bess, check the fireplace carefully. I'll see if any of the floor planks lifts up."

Everyone set to work noiselessly on their assigned task. Bess went over to the fireplace and looked over the bricks in minute detail. When she reached the left side she spotted something that caught her attention. She pressed her fingertips into the joints above and below a brick and pulled. The brick slid out. Behind was revealed a rectangular space built into the fireplace. It was empty.

"Alright, Bess!" George enthused. Nancy came over and examined the fireplace. She saw that the dust on the mantle had been smeared. On her keychain was a tiny flashlight. She clicked this on and filled the secret compartment with light.

Bright sunlight swept into the room. The door was opened and Horace Eberhart stood on the threshold. "What are you girls doing here?" He glowered at them.

They watched each other warily until the silence was broken by Ivy. "We were walking past when we thought we heard a noise, so we went in to investigate."

"What, a raccoon? A bear?"

"Well, there's nothing in here."

"What's that on the floor?" Horace indicated the loose brick. Not pausing for an answer he peered down at the dark compartment in the fireplace. "What the heck is this?"

"We thought maybe you knew," Nancy ventured to say.

He shook his head in evident disdain. "No, you're the detective. I'm not one for secrets." To Nancy's relief, he was not paying any particular attention to her. The girls had the feeling that Horace was looking over them to see if they were concealing anything that might have been inside the secret compartment. As they were dressed for summer weather it was quite impossible for them to hide anything of substantial size.

"Well, if you don't know anything about it, and if we don't know anything about it, then there's not much to be said," Nancy pointed out.

Horace shrugged. "It's your cabin."

"Do you think he's putting on an act, or what?" wondered George when they were out of hearing range.

"He could be working for Podmore," Nancy speculated. "That would make it easy for them to get into the cabin. All I know is that the bags have been removed."

"Bags?"

Nancy nodded. "I'm just guessing that from the impressions they left in the dust on the mantle. We don't know who took them or when they did. If Podmore took them he must be passing them along soon, or why remove them from their hiding place."

"How did anyone know about that empty space behind the brick?" Bess wondered.

"That's easy," Ivy answered. "Horace could have done the work himself, taking out the bricks and creating the space. He's had ten years!"

George argued, "The space could have been original with the fireplace. Podmore could have found it when he was researching his book. He must have had a good look at the cabin then."

"Yes, and that's when Podmore could have gotten the key to the cabin," Nancy noted. "Remember that he cuts keys in his store."

"Why didn't he hide it in his own house?" Ivy wondered.

"There are such things as search warrants," George answered.

"It's time I brought the police into this. I know there's no police on Catriola Island but there's a Royal Canadian Mounted Police detachment on Haine Island. The problem is there's no hard evidence. Anybody could have dug that pit, and all we found were shirts. Now we have an empty secret compartment but we don't know who's been using it or what they put there."

They were sitting at the table after enjoying lunch when Jesse sauntered in. "It smells good in here. Anything left for me?" Without waiting for much of a reply he picked up a plate and began helping himself. "Guess where I've been." When no one answered his question he answered it himself. "Hey, I got onboard Podmore's boat."

"That's trespassing!" groaned Ivy.

"I don't know any of that nautical stuff, so I couldn't learn anything from his notes and charts," he said between mouthfuls of fettuccine. "But I took photos of everything in case."

"Podmore is a careful man," Nancy reminded him. "If he leaves anything lying around it probably isn't important."

Nancy outlined to Jesse her theories about Podmore and what they had been doing that morning. Jesse was more than quick to think the worst of Podmore.

"I saw a small notebook. It had names and phone numbers in it. I should have copied them down. I bet the police would like to get their hands on that information."

"Oh," said George sarcastically, "you're thinking of getting the police involved. I thought you were going to play hero and arrest the whole operation yourself."

"Now that would be cool."

"Don't even think about it," warned Nancy.

"Oh, definitely not, not with America's teen sleuth around."

They loaded the photos Jesse took on his digital camera into Mr. Fisk's laptop. After they had looked through them, Nancy concluded, "Mr. Podmore keeps a record of his boat trips but there isn't anything from the last two weeks."

"Maybe the boat's more for show than for go," offered Bess.

"Unfortunately, lack of evidence doesn't mean very much."

Nancy made the telephone call to the police that evening. Her friends found her looking glum. "I talked to a Corporal Robinson of the R.C.M.P. detachment in Medwell Bay a few minutes ago. He pretty well gave me the brush-off. He didn't seem interested at all. I'm not surprised. It's just as I said: we have only suspicions, no evidence. I'm not sure what we know about this case anymore."


	14. Chapter 14

That Saturday night there was a dance in the gym of the community centre. It was billed as a 'Latin Night' but few of the islander knew how to do Latin dances correctly so they blithely danced in whatever style they felt comfortable with, and no one looked twice at a senior couple dancing cheek to cheek next to Mr. Fisk doing a sort of country swing with his partner. Jeremy Saxton was sitting in with the band for a few numbers. The Fisks had discovered that he was an accomplished acoustic guitar player. His wife made a striking figure on the dance floor with her long, flowing hair and her loose billowing white outfit, looking somewhat Middle Eastern in inspiration. She was doing some sort of interpretive dance, swaying and waving her arms sinuously, like a kelp plant.

Nancy and her friends felt a bit awkward. They were used to being friendly and gregarious back in River Heights but they didn't know anyone on the island their age, except Jesse, and Jesse was nowhere to be seen. Then a girl they recognized from Mr. Podmore's general store came up to greet them.

"Hi, my name is Rachel," she said. "I guess you know me from the store. We're all really sorry about how we treated you before." Nancy assured her it was done with and forgotten. Soon Rachel was joined by some of her friends, whom she introduced. They were all college students who came back to the island in the summer to work.

Jeremy and Mr. Fisk danced with Nancy and the girls, as did Michael.

"Did you get a look at Michael's girlfriend? She's fabulous," George gushed. "I bet she could give Latin dancing lessons." The girls looked over at Michael. His girlfriend had long, wavy dark hair and large brown eyes. She was wearing a short dress with thin shoulder straps in suitably tropical colors. She had her arms on Michael's shoulders as they danced and a seductive grin on her face.

"It's not fair competition, is it?" laughed Nancy. Bess gave a dismissive wave of her hand as if to say she was never interested anyway. "You know, I looked up Canadian professional boardsailing on the Internet, and Michael's name."

"Nancy, you didn't!" reproved her friend Bess.

"Sorry, it's just force of habit. I didn't find anything like a Canadian tour, or Michael's name associated with the sport, but I suppose that doesn't mean much. He could be telling the truth."

Ivy looked anxiously around for Jesse. "Where do you think Jesse is?" she asked.

"He probably thinks he's not the dancing type," said Bess, her face flushed and shining.

After many dances, Nancy stepped out to get some fresh air. As she stood outside the gymnasium doors she thought she heard her name whispered. It was Jesse. He came out of darkness into the semi-circle of illumination outside the door. Nancy thought he looked shaken. There was dirt on his pants and on his shirt.

"Are you all right? What happened?"

He looked around warily to make sure they weren't being overheard. "I was up at Bat Cave. Look, I found this note in my shirt pocket this morning. Don't tell the girls."

Nancy looked at the slip of paper. It read, "Meet me at Bat Cave tonight at 9:15. Don't let the others know. Ivy" It was written in block letters in pencil.

"So I went fifteen minutes early. As I got to the ridge I could see a person moving ahead of me. So I ducked behind trees and kept moving closer. This guy went straight to Bat Cave, took out something from his backpack and dropped it into the cave. When he turned around I knew it was Eberhart! He went back down the trail. I waited fifteen minutes or so, thinking he had left. Ivy wasn't there, of course. I went up to the cave and looked in. What Eberhart had dropped was a large envelope. I was kneeling down, peering down at it when someone tackles me from behind! He smeared my face in the dirt. It was Eberhart! I asked him what was going on.

"He said, 'Where the hell's the stuff?' I told him I didn't know what he was talking about. His eyes were wide and glaring down at me. I thought he might strangle me right then. He calmed down a bit and sat still. He was huffing and puffing. I guess he isn't in very good shape. He was thinking, trying to figure out what the situation was. 'Get off me,' I said, and he was so distracted he did let me get up. 'What are you doing here?' he asked. I said I came because of the note and I showed it to him, but by then it was too dark to read. He didn't seem to care anyway. 'Whose handwriting is it?' he asked, but he was already looking away as if he didn't care what I said. I told him I didn't recognize it, but it probably wasn't Ivy's. He didn't say anything. He just walked away very mechanically, as if he had already made up his mind. Oh, and he looked back just to make sure I was getting up and following him. So, do you know what this is all about?"

"I think we jumped to the wrong conclusion. I mean, I jumped to the wrong conclusion. But we're going to have to think it all through later."

"Should we go back to the cave?"

"It may be too late, but we have to try. I'll tell Mr. Fisk I have to leave. We're going to need the tent if we have to wait all night."

Jesse drove back from the village. Nancy grabbed the packed-up tent and threw some necessities into her backpack. She phoned the police, asked for Corporal Robinson, and had Jesse tell him his story. Hurriedly they gathered up the tent and went up the trail to Bat Cave.

"What did Cpl. Robinson say?" asked Nancy.

"He didn't seem very impressed. He did say he would come over tomorrow on the ferry."

"Then this is in our hands. We better be careful. If the envelope does contain money this could be a dangerous situation."

"It's too bad the trail is too steep to go up without flashlights. Anyone would be able to see us coming."

"Maybe that's one reason they chose this location."

Not to the great surprise of either of them, there was no envelope in the mouth of the cave. There was no one in sight either.

"That's just great," sighed Jesse. "When the police get here tomorrow they'll just think that I've got an overactive imagination, or I got panicked, or something. They might even think I made up the entire story."


	15. Chapter 15

When Jesse and Nancy returned to the Fisks' house, their arrival was eagerly awaited. Jesse repeated the story of his adventure one more time. The girls were very sympathetic. They wanted to know if he had any bruises or cuts from being tackled by Horace but he insisted there was nothing wrong with him. Mr. Fisk intervened at that point to insist that it was getting late and they had to be off to bed. Once upstairs though, the girls were too excited by developments in the case to follow that wise fatherly advice.

"I don't know if we should be discussing the case without Jesse's presence," Nancy began.

"But you don't really trust him and neither do I," George completed the sentence.

Nancy gave her a glare of disapproval. "That's not what I was going to say. Jesse has this tendency to jump to conclusions. I have to shoulder some of the responsibility for that too. We need to go over our thinking again, meticulously this time, so we can get it right. Let's start, maybe not at the beginning, but with the message in the _Tom Sawyer_."

"We agreed that Podmore fabricated that in order to protect his drug smuggling operation," Bess contributed.

"But remember that we asked Horace about a map from Cyrus Fisk. That could have given him the idea to send us to the cave. He had time to return here, go up the trail, write down the directions, and put the book into the bookcase, long before we found the book."

"Horace is around the house so much," said George, "that we hardly notice when he's here and when he's not. I'm pretty sure though that he was in the house when we were eating dinner and he left with the plumber before Mrs. Podmore arrived."

"So the theory about the book, the cave, and the smuggling, all that, could be correct but with Horace as the culprit and not Mr. Podmore," reasoned Bess.

"He did change his mind about us looking for the gold awfully abruptly," said George.

Nancy continued. "Jesse's story only makes sense if Eberhart is the drug smuggler. He's the one who hid the drugs in the prospector's cabin. Podmore must be the one who found them and removed them. Now Podmore is blackmailing Eberhart. He's making him pay to get the drugs back. At the same time he was trying to cast suspicion on Jesse."

"But of course Horace isn't going to admit that he was blackmailed. So what do the police have to investigate?" wondered George.

"If only we could break into Mr. Podmore's house and find the bags of drugs," said Ivy. "That would settle it."

"Ivy, you're sounding just like Jesse," said George with a grin.

Ivy colored. "It was just an idea that came to the top of my head. I wouldn't really break into his house."

George said in a kindly tone, "We know that, Ivy. I was just kidding you."

"At least now there's enough hint of real crime for the police to be interested," Nancy said. "They're sure to search Podmore's house and the two businesses. Eberhart will be investigated. Maybe our involvement in this case is done."

"I wouldn't count on it," said Bess. "I bet there are still one or two plot twists to go."

Ivy asked, "How do you guys usually solve your cases?"

George laughed. "Well, usually we snoop around constantly until we stumble into the nest of criminals. Then they obligingly tell us all their plans and tie us up. We get rescued or escape and they get arrested. Something along those lines."

"I don't think I want to be tied up," said Ivy.

"Honestly, George," objected Bess, "you make us sound like such helpless ninnies."

"This time let's try to end the case by actually solving it and by being one step ahead of the criminals," said Nancy in a determined voice.


	16. Chapter 16

When they got into the village on Sunday morning they were surprised to see a police cruiser parked in front of the Podmores' diner. There was a surprisingly large number of curious bystanders on the sidewalk considering it was an early hour on a Sunday. Jesse and the girls pressed aggressively forward until they could see a uniformed policeman and Mr. Podmore standing just inside the front door of the diner. Jesse rapped loudly on the glass door. Those inside ignored him at first, then he rapped again and the police officer opened the door, clearly annoyed. "Look, kid, the diner's not open today."

"I don't want to eat, I have something to say, officer sir."

The officer held the door open reluctantly, challenging Jesse to say something that would justify his effort.

"I was the one who phoned about the money being dropped off at Bat Cave last night. It might have something to do with this, if you'd only tell me what this is about."

"Yeah, that's right. I heard about it this morning. I don't see what it has to do with this incident here, though."

"It might." Jesse stared hard at Mr. Podmore, who merely looked upset and puzzled. The officer waved Jesse in. Immediately, the girls followed.

"Hey, I didn't say anything about your entourage."

Ivy was not to be deterred. "We're nobody's entourage. We are working to solve this case."

"Case?" The policeman guffawed. "What do you know about it? It's a simple break and enter."

Nancy turned to Mr. Podmore. "Is that right?"

Mr. Podmore seemed relieved to have a familiar face to speak to. "It doesn't seem simple to me. There's nothing valuable here and nothing was taken. The alarm went off at 7:32. That's when the security company phoned me. I came here as soon as I could."

The group had followed Mr. Podmore from the dining area, through the kitchen doors, past the kitchen to a small back room. The room was clearly used for office functions. It was dominated by a large wooden desk on which lay files, letters, bills, pens, and an adding machine. On shelves were restaurant supplies. The window in the back room was broken. The latch had been undone and the window pulled up. Shards of glass were strewn over the desk.

Mr. Podmore continued. "I can't see any point to it. You couldn't get any of the equipment through that window, that's for sure. They couldn't have had ten minutes before I arrived."

"Nothing is missing?" Nancy asked.

Mr. Podmore made a wry grin and raised his hands in a gesture of incomprehension. "They could have taken a couple of bottles of ketchup. I guess we wouldn't notice that."

"You didn't have any important documents lying around?" Nancy stared at Mr. Podmore keenly. She had gone from curious bystander to interrogator.

Mr. Podmore felt the change immediately. He stiffened. "What are you going on about? This is a diner. What kind of important documents do you think I have? You can see for yourself. They're just letters about beer delivery."

"You won't mind if we have a look around, sir?" Nancy addressed this to the constable.

The constable was either secretly amused to let Nancy conduct the investigation or thought he might learn something from the proceedings. He shrugged. Nancy instructed her friends to spread out and inspect the premises.

Mr. Podmore turned to look at the officer in exasperation. "Constable Lewis, is this really necessary?" The officer merely flipped through his notebook blandly.

In a few minutes a shout came from Bess. "Nancy, come look at this!" Bess had lifted the lid on a garbage bin. Lying on top of potato peelings, lettuce leaves and other expected byproducts of food preparation was a folded newspaper. Bess lifted the folded sheets of newspaper to reveal blackened remnants of burnt paper. Nancy pulled out a multi-purpose tool from her handbag and flicked out a knife. She lifted up the burnt paper with the care of a museum curator.

"Almost all of the sheet has been reduced to ashes," Nancy pronounced shortly. "The ashes aren't here so the paper was burned elsewhere. There's just a fragment of paper that's still readable. I'm sure that it's a sheet of the same newspaper that's lying on top. And you can barely see something significant in the fragment. At least a couple of letters have been cut out of the newspaper text."

"Pardon? What's that?" Constable Lewis looked up from his notes.

"It's just what you might see in a blackmail note, letters cut from a newspaper."

Jesse hastened to recount the story he had told the police over the phone the night before.

Mr. Podmore was quick to object. "I've never seen this newspaper before. I don't know how it got there."

"So," said Constable Lewis,"there's more to this than it seems. It's a good thing you kids are here."

"Yeah, it was a clever move to let us in," Jesse remarked sarcastically. Ivy gave him a warning glance.

Constable Lewis exited the building and came back with evidence bags and envelopes, and a fingerprint dusting kit. While he carried out his duties everyone else found seats in the diner. Mrs. Podmore arrived with a look of great concern on her face. She quickly conferred with her husband in an anxious whisper. Then everyone sat silently, watching the policeman's investigations. As they seemed to be taking a long time, no one had objections to Mrs. Podmore making coffee and serving soft drinks.

"Well," the constable concluded at last, "if there's no more evidence to be gathered, maybe we should be clearing out and leaving Mr. Podmore to open his diner." He looked sternly at the business owner. "We'll be talking to Mr. Eberhart. I assume you'll be making yourself available in case we need to talk to you again."

"But the break-in is still unexplained," pointed out Ivy.

"Yes, you're right." Nancy said, frowning. Her friends thought she looked dissatisfied.


	17. Chapter 17

Nancy had been lost in thought. It was a spell her friends were well used to. She was sitting motionless, her eyes level but not focused on anything. When Nancy spoke again her voice seemed measured and distant.

"Do you remember what Mr. Saxton said? You just can't tell much from a document printed by a computer printer these days. They're just about impossible to trace. So why would anyone go to the trouble of producing a blackmail letter, if there is a blackmail letter, in an old-fashioned way like cutting letters from a newspaper or magazine? It doesn't make much sense. It's like something from a mystery novel."

"Maybe the blackmailer likes reading mystery novels. That could be a clue," joked George.

Nancy went on. "The thing about doing it this way is that it leaves a newspaper which serves as evidence, evidence that incriminates a person. And why would someone burn the newspaper, but not completely? They could have crumpled it into a ball and dropped it into the ocean. Then even if it was found, no one would know who it came from."

"You're saying that the blackmailer created the note and planted the newspaper here to bring suspicion onto someone else?" Ivy tried to follow Nancy's line of thought.

"Yes, that's it. So, then you have an explanation for the break-in. Nothing was stolen because the purpose of the break-in was to leave something here, the newspaper and the burnt page."

Mr. Podmore was wide-eyed with surprise and relief. "It's just as I've been saying. I know nothing about blackmailing or a note."

"Jesse," Nancy commanded sharply, "can we see the bottoms of your shoes?" He nonchalantly swung them out from under the table and rested them, crossed, on top of the table. "I can see a couple of tiny slivers of glass embedded in the soles."

"Jesse!" cried Ivy, unable to suppress a sudden surge of emotion.

The constable came over to examine the shoes. "Young man, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"You're a sharp one, Nancy. But you know I'm not going to admit to anything, except the breaking and entering. I stand by my story. I can easily explain the break-in, officer. I came looking for the bags of drugs that Podmore clearly stole from Eberhart. I didn't realize this building was alarmed. Once the alarm went off I had no time to look around, of course."

The constable considered this for a moment. "Yes, well, that fits in with the rest of your statement."

Nancy was determined to continue with her explanation. "We saw that there had been bags of something, call it contraband, in the fireplace of the prospector's cabin, and they had been removed. I'm supposing that Jesse, as he was returning to Mr. Fisk's house, happened to see Eberhart going to the cabin, followed him, and watched him as he took the bags out of their hiding spot. Jesse passed a note to Eberhart, threatening to expose him. Eberhart dropped off the cash at the appointed time and Jesse picked it up. Jesse then fabricated the story about wrestling with Eberhart. If he had been tackled by a big guy like Eberhart, as he said, you would expect him to be pretty sore and bruised, but he seems perfectly fine. He also made up a note to explain his presence at the cave and to throw me off the scent."

The constable looked a little puzzled. "No offence,miss, but I'm partial to straightforward explanations of the facts. Now this young man says that these drug smugglers had a falling out with one another, and I'm inclined to believe him. Fancy theories may be all the fashion down south, but I prefer to keep things simple." Then he added, "Say, what was that about a cabin?"

Nancy heaved a deep sigh. "It's a long story and I've already told it to Cpl. Robinson. You can read it in the file. By the way, I've thought of a way of deciding between my fancy theory and Jesse's story, if you're interested." He gestured for her to continue. "If I'm right, Jesse's note would say something like, 'I saw you with bags of something you shouldn't have in your possession. Pay me off or I'll tell the police.' If Podmore created the note it would be, 'I have some bags that you're missing. Pay me off if you want them back.'" The constable was rapidly scribbling notes and nodding. "Unfortunately," Nancy went on, "it's highly unlikely that Eberhart would admit to being blackmailed or keep the note."

Nancy turned to where Jesse was still seated. "Jesse, you could have been off the island by now, with the money," she said. "But you wanted to tweak our noses, you had to try to frame Mr. Podmore. You had to show you were cleverer than us."

"Jesse, you took the money too?" asked a disbelieving Ivy. Jesse looked away and remained silent.

"Young man," said the constable, "I'm going to have to arrest you and take you to our detachment at Medwell Bay on Haine Island where we'll get a full statement from you. I'll leave it to others to decide what you can be charged with. If what this young lady says is correct then you've planted evidence which is public mischief according to the Criminal Code. Breaking and entering for the purpose of public mischief is of course also an offence."

The constable was soon on the telephone to his headquarters. Jesse was sitting expressionless at the diner table. The girls made their departure.

"Nancy," said George, "you've got to make them believe your ideas."

"We haven't reached the final chapter yet," was all Nancy said.

"What gets me," said George, "is that blackmail is like a perfect crime. You make an anonymous threat. The victim leaves the money. The criminal picks up the money and gets out of there. Neither wants to make the crime public. All the evidence would be destroyed. There would be nothing for detectives like us to work on."

"I have to agree with you," said Nancy. "It's convenient for us that criminals want to make it complicated. That way there are spots where you can see through the lies."

Nancy, aware that she had thoughtlessly used the term 'criminal' for Jesse, turned to look sympathetically at Ivy, who she thought was looking a little sad and bewildered.


	18. Chapter 18

Corporal Robinson came to the Fisk house in the early evening to ask questions and inform them of progress in the police investigation. Cpl. Robinson had short, dark, carefully-trimmed hair. His dark stubble was especially prominent on his soft pink face. It took some time for the officer to go over in detail the information that Nancy had provided over the telephone. He gave the impression that he had been well trained not to show any great excitement or interest. He told them that the Podmores' house and businesses had been searched but nothing significant was found. Eberhart's house had also been searched with no more success. Neither Podmore nor Eberhart had alibis for Saturday night. The bank accounts of Jesse and Mr. Podmore would be checked for recent large deposits.

"What about Jesse?" Nancy asked.

The officer looked faintly annoyed. "He was released after questioning. Mr. Podmore asked that we not charge him for the broken window if he was willing to pay for it. No charges are being considered at this time. We have asked him to make himself available for further investigation."

"I guess that without any case for blackmail there's no case for tampering with evidence. That takes away any criminal intent from breaking in," Nancy reasoned. The corporal said nothing but his small eyes lifted up to look at Nancy and his eyebrows rose just a bit.

"When they were questioning Eberhart they didn't give away that it was Jesse who told the story about the blackmailing, did they?" asked Ivy anxiously.

"I assure you that care has been taken not to mention any other names."

Cpl. Robinson searched through Jesse's few belongings, which were still in the Fisks' living room. The girls showed him the photos that Jesse had taken on Mr. Podmore's boat. It was soon apparent that if Jesse had had anything to hide he had done a good job of discarding the evidence.

Nancy happened to glance at a small plastic case Jesse owned. She opened it and saw an assortment of hand tools, some with interchangeable shafts. Her eye was attracted to one that looked like an ice pick, with a short handle and a metal shaft, circular in cross-section, ending in a sharp point. She was not going to say anything when she heard George beside her exclaim, "The miserable creep!" George and Nancy had seen the same thing, that the tool looked like a match for the punctures in their kayaks.

"He wanted us off the island, too," fumed George. "It must have been because he wanted the gold all to himself. Do you think he wrote that letter about Mr. Fisk being a developer?"

"I don't know. That might have been before he got to the island. There's not much point in bringing it up now," said Nancy a little sadly.

"So you think Mr. Podmore won't be charged?" wondered Ivy.

"Without evidence, and without even an admission that there was a crime by the victim, I mean, Eberhart, the whole matter will likely blow over," said Nancy.

"Yes, but I don't think Jesse was counting on criminal charges against Mr. Podmore," said George. "He was more concerned with Eberhart taking revenge against someone, trying to get his money back."

"It's not clear what Eberhart will think," said Nancy. "He might hear the story, one way or another, that the newspaper used to make the blackmail note was found in Mr. Podmore's business."

"We've got to get the money back to Eberhart," said Ivy.

"If there really was money in the envelope," pointed out George.

"As for the drug smuggling case there doesn't seem to be any progress in that," said Nancy. "If I'm right and Jesse made up the story about his encounter with Eberhart at the cave, then we still don't know who is behind the operation."

George and Bess were bored in the evening and went to play tennis. They came back later quite excited, with something to tell Nancy.

"Hey, guess who we met at Jeremy's?" George began.

When Nancy would not hazard a guess, Bess continued, "It was Carolina, you know, Michael's girlfriend. She's been staying at Jeremy's."

"Naturally, we asked her a few things. She said she was staying a week. Get this, though. She said 'she wasn't supposed to be there'. I wonder what that means."

"She said she's a nurse and she lives in MacNeish on Coeverden Island."

Nancy interrrupted. "That rings a bell. Didn't Ivy's father say that Cyrus Fisk spent his last days at a care facility in MacNeish?"

"That's right!" Bess's eyes widened. "But it could be just a coincidence, I suppose."

"Anyway," George resumed, "I asked Carolina if she found it difficult to accept Michael being away most of the year at school, and she acted surprised and then she said nothing, just smiled."

"I think we should pay a visit to our kayak instructor in the morning," said Nancy.


	19. Chapter 19

When the girls arrived at the kayak shop on Monday morning the salesperson at the counter said that Michael was not there. The young man had a curious half-grin on his face as if he had an interesting secret he could not share. He gave them Michael's address though.

The girls had to consult their map of the island to find the house where Michael was staying. He was living in the basement suite. They rang the bell to his door but there was no answer.

"I'm going to play a hunch," said Nancy with determination. "Let's go back up to the blind at the lookout."

Soon they were crouching behind the bushes at the same place where they observed the blind the first time. On this occasion though, there was no mistaking that the blind was occupied. A silhouetted head and shoulders were visible through the opening nearest the girls.

"If you had made us walk up all this way for nothing I would have throttled you," Bess whispered to Nancy.

"Oh, it's my turn," said George as she picked up a rock and tossed it towards the blind.

A man emerged. It was Constable Lewis in civilian clothes. He looked stern as he approached but he spoke mildly. "What can I do for you young ladies?"

They were about to ask questions about what the policeman was doing but George spoke out first. "We were looking for Michael, really."

Constable Lewis viewed them through narrowed eyes. "There's no keeping secrets from you lot, is there? You haven't been blabbing about this, have you?"

Ivy was about to make a retort but Nancy looked placid. Constable Lewis looked at her and then said, "It doesn't make any difference now anyway. He's in a car parked on the road just outside Mr. Eberhart's residence."

The girls scrambled down the hillside, barely containing their impulse to run all the way back.

"This case is coming to a climax soon," said Bess, echoing all of their thoughts.

"I'm sure Michael will believe our theories and he can convince the other police," said George.

In an unmarked car on the roadside the girls found Michael seated with another man. They made no attempt at concealment. The other man was operating a laptop computer. Michael was not pleased to see them.

"This isn't fun and games. Stay clear of this investigation. There's no telling what might happen at this point."

"Don't you know who you're talking to?" George shot back. "This is Nancy Drew, famous girl detective. She's been involved in countless police cases. They work with her all the time."

"Yeah, yeah. I've read all about her but I'm not about to put you civilians in a dangerous position."

"Come on George. We'd better back off." Nancy put a hand on her friend's arm as if to guide her away.

"I'll come over to your house to fill you in, when I'm relieved," Michael said, in a mollified tone.

At noon Michael was in the Fisks' house. "I've been stationed here since last month. Undercover." He flashed a grin at the girls. "We've had suspicions about an operation going on here. Then last month a Coast Guard boat following a freighter was lucky enough to see it dump some cargo overboard. No boat came to pick up the cargo. Most likely they had spotted the boat. They hauled in the crate and found ten kilograms of an illicit substance. That drop spot was close to a couple of these islands and we had heard specifically that the pick-up person operated from Catriola. That's why I was assigned to assist the local police detachment.

"Of course, the police and Coast Guard can't watch the island day and night. We have nothing like the resources. We have a list of high-risk freighters and we know when they're expected to pass by. That's when we concentrate our efforts.

"The Sunday before last, we were on alert. There was a police boat available and a helicopter. The helicopter must have been too close to the freighter and the crew must have heard it because they delayed dumping the crate. The helicopter gave up the chase. The pick-up person must have kept following the freighter as it went north, staying along the coastline. The crew finally made the drop. The police boat was still waiting offshore of Catriola. Their patience was rewarded because they spotted the smuggler's boat heading back towing the crate. He was too far away and too fast for them though. He ducked into one of the coves on the west side of the island and they lost him. I was in a car driving along the coastline. I couldn't make visual contact. As I drove around the island I probably did see the boat in question but by then it was just another pleasure boat on an island full of them. It was a pretty frustrating exercise."

"The police couldn't identify the boat?" asked George.

"No, from that distance it wasn't distinctive." Michaelcontinued. "We would have been back to square one except that last Tuesday we received an anonymous tip to keep a watch on Horace Eberhart. That's when I set up the blind on the hill."

"When Nancy phoned the police to tell them about our suspicions they only pretended to be uninterested because their investigation was ongoing and they already had a suspect. You're sure that it's Eberhart then, not Mr. Podmore?" questioned George.

"I'm definitely not sure of that," Michael replied. "In fact, we have the Podmores under observation as well."

"And is there another freighter on your list expected any time soon?"

"As a matter of fact, there's one expected in three days. But by then we hope to have this operation taken out of action."


	20. Chapter 20

"If Eberhart knows he's under surveillance maybe he'll just lie low for a while," said George.

"I don't think so," replied Nancy, "because he wouldn't have taken the bags out of their hiding spot unless he was planning to deliver them soon. Now he faces a dilemma. He has associates who are waiting for delivery but he knows his moves are being watched and his cellphone is being monitored. I'm sure his land line is tapped as well."

"That's what the guy with the laptop was doing?" asked Bess. Nancy nodded.

Jesse arrived back on Catriola on the late afternoon ferry. The earlier afternoon sailing did not allow passengers on Mondays because it was for dangerous cargo. After weeks of sun the weather had gotten gray and overcast. This seemed to match the mood in the Fisk house. No one felt like talking much. Jesse looked subdued if not glum. He talked briefly with Mr. Fisk, out of hearing of the girls.

They soon found him packing up his belongings in the livingroom. He hesitated for an instant over each item, as if asking himself what the police officer would have thought during his search.

"Then you're going?" asked Nancy.

"Yes, I'll have to stay on Catriola until they're finished their investigation, but we thought it would be better if I moved to Mr. Saxton's. Ivy's father arranged a discount rate for me."

"Oh, Jesse, you'll have to return Mr. Eberhart's money," said Ivy in a voice that betrayed her concern. "Who knows what he might do if he suspects you."

"Money? There wasn't any money." Jesse had a wry, angry grin. He barely looked in Ivy's direction. "If you want to know the truth, all Eberhart put in the envelope was a note calling me all kinds of nasty names and basically saying to go ahead and set the police on him.I didn't gain a penny."

"And you're out the fifty dollars to pay for the repairs to our kayaks," said George unsympathetically.

"Oh, yeah, that. Sure, I'll pay it."

"You did tell the police the truth?" Nancy asked in level tones.

"Yes," Jesse answered with fierce reluctance. "You were right, after all."

Under Nancy's observant gaze Ivy showed no signs of emotion at Jesse's departure. She didn't mention his name again, either.

Jesse left just as Horace Eberhart came to the front door. "Excuse me," was all Jesse said as he swung his bags past Eberhart. Eberhart glared at him for a brief moment before passing into the house. Eberhart talked to Mr. Fisk. They walked up to the bathroom they had been working on and then out to the yard where debris from the renovation was still sitting.

Ivy informed the girls later that her father had terminated Eberhart's services. Fortunately, all the work had been done except some finishing touches that Mr. Fisk would undertake himself. Eberhart tossed the discarded bits of plumbing and other junk into the back of his truck. He left without a word to the girls.

"It's a little creepy having that Eberhart around here," said George, "even if he's just a suspect."

"We still don't know if he or Podmore is the smuggler, or maybe both," Bess reminded them.

"If I had to make a guess," said Nancy, "I would say Podmore's not our man."

"Well, where are we going to stake out Eberhart?" George asked.

"But I thought the police didn't want us to get involved," objected Ivy.

"Don't worry Ivy, we'll phone them as soon as we see anything. We always manage to stay out of trouble." George shared a brief look with Bess and Nancy.

"All right, then."

Bess said, "The police have to keep at least two people watching the Podmores, another up on the ridge, two on the road, and most likely, people assigned to the police boat. That stretches them pretty thin. They probably have nobody on the road west of Eberhart's house. How about if we waited there?"

"Sounds good, Bess," said George. "Let's get Operation Eberhart into gear, girls."


	21. Chapter 21

With a clattering of pebbles spun out by the tires and a cloud of yellow dust, Eberhart's pickup truck lurched onto the road in the morning.

Bess and George, sitting in Mr. Fisk's car on the road shoulder near Eberhart's house, reacted immediately. All the girls had been taking turns keeping watch, from the afternoon of the previous day to midnight. The time had passed without incident. Now, a couple of hours after resuming their surveillance, there was finally some action. On her cellphone, Bess phoned Nancy and Ivy who were at the Fisks' house.

As all the girls were prepared for stake-out duty there was only a moment's delay as the car passed the house and picked up Nancy and Ivy. Ahead of them on the road they recognized Michael's car.

"What is Eberhart up to?" said George. "He can't escape the police on this little island."

"He's in time for the morning ferry to Haine Island," observed Nancy.

Indeed, Eberhart was not trying to escape. He was driving at a normal speed to the ferry terminal. Soon they passed the ticket booth, paid for their ticket and entered the line-up to wait. They could keep an eye on Eberhart's pickup truck ahead of them and the unmarked police car occupied by Michael and another officer.

"This feels a little weird," said Ivy as the line of cars was loaded onto the ferry. "Everything seems so routine. The ferry's even on time for a change."

"All we can do is wait for someone to make a move," said George. "It makes me a little tense."

"I thought you'd be more used to it than me."

They joined the crowd leaving their cars on the ferry's car deck to make for the passenger lounges. In the stairwell it was impossible to see more than the people immediately ahead and they did not know where Eberhart or the police were.

"We've lost him," murmured Bess.

"Does it matter?" asked Ivy. "It's not that big a boat. We're sure to see him in the passenger seats."

"We do need to find Eberhart though," warned Nancy. "His connection might be on the boat too. They could pass the drugs as easily as handing off a shopping bag."

"Speaking of shopping bags, look." Bess pointed out Eberhart in the aisle running along the starboard side of the ship. He was wearing a bulky jacket and had a backpack on. "He could be carrying all the stuff on him right now."

Eberhart took a seat at the side of the boat. He turned to look at the girls just long enough to register a hostile expression.

"Oh, what happened to the easy-going, fun-loving Horace we used to know?" quipped George.

Bess and George gave all appearances that they had settled down for a boat ride. Nancy looked calm and relaxed but she regularly turned her eyes up in Eberhart's direction. Ivy seemed agitated and restless as if she were impatient for something to happen to end all the waiting. The police officers soon located Eberhart and took up seats nearby. Eberhart got up from his seat just once. The girls were on the edges of their seats ready to follow him when they realized he had only gone to pick up a newspaper.

It was not a pleasant day for a boat trip. The gray overcast had darkened. The breeze that had blown earlier was now a steady cold wind. Whitecaps were on the waves. Nancy wore long pants and a long-sleeved top with a hooded jacket but she wished she had brought a pullover as George had. Summer had abandoned Catriola Island for now.

"He looks so calm, sitting there reading his newspaper," George said. They tried to keep their voices down so as not to be overheard by their adversary. "It's as if he's done this a hundred times."

"Maybe he has," said Bess.

"Yeah, but not with us on his tail."

"What if we're wrong and it's really Podmore, or somebody else?"

"Or maybe they're partners and Eberhart is only acting as a decoy," said George.

"He looks like he's just on his regular business," said Ivy.

"Regular business?" said Nancy.

"Yeah, I mean he has to get rid of that junk from the bathroom renovation."

"Oh no, I just thought of something." Her friends looked at Nancy in some alarm. "The police searched Eberhart's house and the Podmores' house, but they didn't search our house. I mean they didn't look at the fixtures or the pipes that were sitting in the back yard, and neither did we. Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"To see what Eberhart has in his pickup truck."

As the girls hurried to the nearest stairs it was clear that they had not kept their voices quiet enough. Behind them, walking with long strides, was Eberhart. Nancy led them as the girls made a run for it. They hurtled down the steep stairs as fast as they dared go, startling tourists as they went. Nancy pushed aside the heavy metal door to the dimly-lit car deck with a grunt. Vehicles were tightly packed on that level and the girls had to squeeze and twist their way past cars, vans, trucks, buses and trailers.

Eberhart had tied a bright blue plastic cover over the back of his truck. The girls didn't get a chance to look underneath it, though. Just as they arrived at his vehicle they saw Eberhart behind them. His eyes were opened wide and fixed in a rigid menacing glare. He pulled a handgun out of his jacket and raised it high. An elderly woman standing beside her trailer with her husband let out a piercing scream. The girls stood fixed to their positions, not knowing what to do. Then Nancy instinctively ducked behind the pickup truck. The other girls scattered to put steel between themselves and Eberhart. Never one to just hide and hope that danger would pass her by, Nancy rose enough to peer through the windows of the truck. She saw Michael and the other officer at the door to the stairs.

Eberhart looked over his shoulder and saw the police. With surprising lightness on his feet for a man of his size, Eberhart sprinted for the next stairwell. Nancy noticed now that he was no longer wearing his backpack. He disappeared from view and they heard the heavy metallic clang of the stairwell door closing. Michael and his partner were not taking chances however. They pulled out their revolvers. With practiced precision Michael covered his partner as he took up a position against the metal wall. Slowly the other officer slid along the wall before swinging around the corner, gun held at the ready. But Eberhart had truly gone up the stairs.

The girls, either hearing Michael or seeing Nancy standing up, came out from behind their protection. By now there were clumps of frightened bystanders, just becoming aware of the dangerous events unfolding around them. Michael and his partner ran up the stairs. The girls were quick to follow, undeterred by the threat of violence they had just experienced. They were too breathless and excited to talk.

"Michael is going to blame me for inciting Eberhart to this," Nancy thought, "but I didn't realize he was going to follow us. Or pull a gun."

When Nancy reached the level of the main passenger deck she heard the footsteps of one man running up the stairs above her. George was right behind her. Nancy motioned for Ivy and Bess to try that deck while she and George would follow the footsteps to the sun deck above.

When Nancy and George opened the door they were blasted by a cold gust of wind. Fat raindrops were driven into their faces. This deck was mostly uncovered and had a smaller area than the lower ones. With the weather, there were no passengers sitting on the benches or lying on the wooden boxes that contained life-jackets. Only Michael and Eberhart shared the deck with Nancy and George. Nancy spotted Eberhart by the railing.

At first she thought that he had taken a life-jacket from the ferry, but then she realized that he had flung off his jacket and was wearing his own personal flotation device under it. Eberhart looked over the railing and jumped overboard.


	22. Chapter 22

As Nancy and George watched, the tiny figure of Horace Eberhart was tossed by the churning gray green waves. By the time Eberhart jumped overboard the ferry was already nearing its dock on Haine Island. Nancy calculated his chances of swimming to shore before the cold water killed him but didn't think there was much of a hope. Then she noticed a sleek white powerboat pulling alongside the ferry.

The operator of the boat tossed a line with a float at the end towards Eberhart. The wake of the ferry, like a white wall, submerged Eberhart momentarily and sent the motorboat bobbing up and down like a toy. The ferry was leaving him inexorably behind. They watched as Eberhart emerged again and drew closer to the boat. After a struggle, just as he became too far away to see clearly, it appeared his body was on the deck of the boat.

Bess and Ivy had joined them on the sun deck, oblivious to the rain that was pelting down now. Michael was on his cell phone. From what Nancy could gather he was talking to the police boat. He was giving them instructions to try to head off the motorboat that had rescued Eberhart. He was following keenly where the small boat was going as it disappeared into the misty distance. Nancy guessed that it was going to Haine Island but far from Medwell Bay where the ferry dock was.

When Michael was finished his phone discussions he said gruffly, "Let's get out of the rain." The ship's public address system had already announced that theferry would be docking soon and passengers were instructed to return to their vehicles.

"I didn't recognize the guy on the powerboat," said Nancy. "It wasn't anybody I know from Catriola."

"No, I don't know who he is either," said Michael. "They must be really regretting that they couldn't make a connection earlier, before we had such close surveillance on Eberhart."

"Where's the police boat?" Nancy asked, as they descended the stairs to the car deck.

"It was waiting between the two islands. When it became clear that Eberhart really was going on board the ferry it headed this way. It can't match the speed of the powerboat, of course, but in these rough seas it's at less of a disadvantage. It only needs to stay close enough to spot where they try to land."

"Where are we going?" asked Bess.

"I'm going to try to intercept our suspects by road. I'd rather be in the boat but that's not possible. As for you young ladies, you're going to stay out of harm's way."

"You should know by now that you're not going to get rid of us," stated Ivy with gleeful defiance.

They reached Eberhart's truck. Michael said with a weak smile, "We definitely were going to check out the truck, you know. We were intending to wait until he made contact with his associates."

"Sorry I messed up your plans," said Nancy.

Michael gestured that it was all right. "It seems you messed up Eberhart's plans as well. I'm sure that he was intending to hand over the drugs on Haine, one way or another. I'm convinced that jumping overboard was his last option."

They went to their separate cars. The other police officer arrived at Eberhart's truck. While waiting in their car the girls could see him undo the rope and pull off the blue cover.

"The ferry's docked now. Why is this line taking forever to move?" Ivy was in a fit of anguished impatience. "By the time we get moving the boat chase will be over."

"Boat chases onboard a ferry really don't work," George concluded.

Some ferry workers in orange vests took up positions to direct the disembarking cars around Eberhart's truck. As their car passed the truck the girls caught a glimpse of the officer pulling bags of white powder out of the tank of the avocado green toilet.

The girls followed Michael's car as the stream of departing vehicles hit the roads of Haine Island. Michael must have received news because as soon as he was clear of most of the traffic he put a revolving red light on his car roof.

"The chase is on!" shouted George.

Haine was a long, narrow island much larger in area and population than Catriola. A main road went down the spine of the island. Michael and the girls passed through the heavily occupied area around Medwell Bay and joined the steady stream of traffic going along the length of the island. Cars pulled over to let Michael pass. George took the opportunity to follow just behind Michael's car and pass the motorists, even though many of them stared at the carload of teenaged girls.

Michael pulled into the parking lot of a seaside park. There was a patrol car there waiting for him. Michael conferred with two uniformed police officers. Michael was handed a black vest and a clear plastic rain jacket.

"I bet they don't have any of those rain jackets left for us," said George. The rain was still steady. Gusts of wind swept the raindrops into volleys that cracked against the windows of their car.

Finally Michael came over to brief them. "Eberhart's boat ran aground on Metcalfe Point out there. They abandoned the boat and went into the sea caves. The police boat called on them to surrender butwe haven't heard anything from those two."

"What are sea caves?" asked Ivy.

"The wave action has carved hollows and caves out of the sandstone. Some are submerged but there are spaces above the water line." Michael peered into the car with a look of concern. "We're going to take up positions on the shore. I don't suppose I can stop you girls, short of handcuffing you all to a tree, but I'd prefer it if you stayed in the trees out of clear sight."

Nancy nodded solemnly, if only to relieve some of Michael's worries. Michael and the other police walked down a gravel-covered path that led down to the water. The girls followed a respectful distance behind. They noticed that one of the police officers had a rifle with a sight.

At the edge of the woods they could look down on the near shore where the police officers were taking up positions behind rocks. Across a narrow strip of water were the low, rounded sandstone formations of Metcalfe Point. Like a forearm extending through a sleeve, the rock forms were naked to the elements except for a few windswept, twisted trees that clung to survival on top.

At the very end of the point, the white powerboat was caught on the rocks. Waves pounded the shore, sending white plumes of froth shooting up. With each wave the boat was lifted up and it looked as if it would float free but as the water receded the boat lowered and nestled helplessly once again in its cradle. Both Eberhart and his associate had abandoned the craft and were nowhere to be seen. Anchored nearby was the police boat.

The girls sat and waited but nothing seemed to happen. A small inflatable came from the police boat to the shore and Michael had a short discussion with the officers onboard. Nancy recognized one of them as Corporal Robinson.

"I guess they're going to wait out those two," sighed Bess.

"I'm freezing," Ivy hissed between clenched teeth. She was shaking.

"You'd better sit in the car," advised Nancy in a considerate tone.

"Ugh, now I'm not even going to see the end of this."

"Maybe the rest of us aren't going to last that long either," said Bess.

"What if they've already drowned. We could be waiting here a long time."

As if to reward them for their patience, Michael jogged up the path to inform the girls that a police dive team had been sent for. If nothing was seen or heard from the fugitives by then they might have to take the dangerous step of entering the caves under the water.


	23. Chapter 23

"Where's Ivy?" This came from George as she was walking down the path to where Nancy and Bess maintained their watch over the police on the shoreline.

"Isn't she in the car?" asked an astonished Nancy. George shook her head.

Alarmed, Nancy leapt from her position and ran up the path to the parking lot. There was no sign of Ivy in the car or in the parking lot. They checked the washroom facilities but found nothing.

"She might have gone for something to eat," suggested Bess.

"You go check that out," shouted Nancy. "There's a map of the park over there. We're going to go back on the trails." Nancy left so frantically that Bess wasn't quite sure what was said to her.

There was only one destination that made sense to Nancy, and that was to Metcalfe Point. With the dense storm clouds and the overarching canopy of trees the trails were gloomy. They were empty of the usual park visitors. Silenced by their concern for their friend, Nancy and George walked at a brisk pace but were careful not to go astray and waste time.

The dark woods gave way to unkempt bushes and straggly undergrowth. The girls soon found themselves atop the undulating rock formations. They stepped over surprisingly circular holes in the sandstone which opened to chambers beneath.

"Where are you Ivy?" shouted Bess and Nancy in turn.

"I'm over here," they heard Ivy shout. They never thought a voice could sound so sweet to them.

Relief was immediately replaced by anger. "What do you think you're doing?" cried Nancy. Immediately she thought how shrill she sounded.

"You can't order me around," Ivy retorted. "I have every right to investigate as you have."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound as if I was in charge. We're happy to see you. I just don't think we should be here. It isn't safe."

Twenty feet behind Ivy, emerging from the rocks was Eberhart. He had found some passage from the chambers underneath to the surface. The hostile expression they had last seen on his face had been replaced by the dull mask of someone who has survived an exhausting physical ordeal. He still had his life-jacket and his pants on but he was barefooted. Water streamed in rivulets down his temples. He struggled to control his jerky shaking. He raised his gun.

Ivy, following Nancy's gaze, looked over her shoulder and gave a choked gasp. Eberhart and Ivy stared at one another. The girls watched Eberhart's heavy, uneven breathing, waiting for him to say something, but he could not seem to summon any words.

"Drop the gun!" came a command. Michael was standing on the inflatable, now drifting towards the shore of Metcalfe Point. This time there was no thought of escape. The gun fell from Eberhart's hand as if he could no longer make the effort to hold it. A look of distress flashed across Ivy's face and she began to cry softly. Nancy hugged her protectively. Eberhart did not move from his spot while the police pulled themselves onto the rocks. When the police handcuffed him he turned to take a final look at Nancy. She thought he had an expression that looked like horror, as if he was gradually becoming aware of the meaning of his situation.

Eberhart's associate came out of a cave and surrendered that evening. Nancy and her friends were already back on Catriola.


	24. Chapter 24

It was the day after Eberhart's arrest. Nancy and her friends were all packed for their departure from Catriola on the evening of the next day.

"It's hard to believe that three weeks have passed," said Bess.

"It's hard to believe that you've gone three weeks without shopping in a mall and you haven't complained once," said George.

"That's right," said Bess a little surprised at herself.

At lunch Mr. Fisk said, "Ivy and I will be back here next summer." Mr. Fisk gave a lingering, loving look at his daughter. Ivy averted her eyes, staring with a fixed expression down at her plate. Nancy wondered if she was still blaming herself for almost falling into Eberhart's hands. "Of course we'll drag Julia along whether she can afford the time or not. Does it surprise you, Nancy?"

"No, this is a wonderful place. I hope you have a very happy future here. I'm glad that all the things that have happened in the last three weeks haven't discouraged you."

"I think I can live with the knowledge that some of my neighbors aren't angels. Of course we can't spend much time on the island but I hope to stay long enough and often enough that the locals regard me as something more than a summer visitor."

"It's funny but I never go back to the places where I've traveled and worked on a case. I guess you could say I'm like the lone gunfighter in old westerns. I ride in, clean up the town, then I ride off into the sunset."

"But you're a gunfighter we want to have back in town. You're welcome here whenever and as often as you like. You need a quiet place to relax after all that hustle and bustle in River Heights."

Ivy spoke to Nancy after lunch. She said, "I'm sorry for running out to the rock yesterday without telling you."

"We were really worried about you," Nancy said by way of acknowledging the apology.

"I know that was a dangerous situation. Eberhart could have done anything." For a moment, Ivy's voice faltered and there was a pained expression on her face, but she recovered her composure. "I guess I was thinking that I hadn't contributed much to our investigation. And I was stupid enough to believe everything Jesse told us. I felt I had to do something to make up for it."

Nancy was quick to reassure her. "We've all put ourselves into tight spots more than a few times." Nancy smiled. "I guess you learn from your experiences."

Later, Nancy sat by herself on a rock ledge below Fisk Lookout. Only pale shreds were left of the previous day's storm clouds. A newly washed blue sky shone between the lingering clouds. It was still cool and windy. Nancy did not mind though. The rock absorbed what heat there was in the sun's rays. She found that from particular locations, if she sat at certain angles, it was possible to screen out almost all of the world and see only the serenity of the trees and the ocean beyond. It gave her an unsettling, eerie feeling. Nancy shifted her back against the flat rock surface and turned her gaze. To her surprise she saw Mr. and Mrs. Podmore strolling on the hillside below. Nancy called out to them and descended from her rocky perch.

"I didn't expect to see the two of you here, especially on a weekday."

"Well the store's open seven days a week. I'm not going to be all the time."

"And Alice can take care of the diner when I'm not there."

"I suppose congratulations are on order for the successful completion of your case," said Mr. Podmore.

"I give all the credit to the police for providing a happy ending to the investigation. I was wrong about a lot but I did figure a few things out by the end." Nancy smiled. "Speaking of that, I just wanted to tie up a loose end. Mr. Podmore, were you the one who phoned the police with the tip about Eberhart?"

"Yes," said Mr. Podmore, widening his eyes in surprise. "What I noticed that afternoon was Horace's truck on the road not far from my driveway. I thought that he might have gone down the trail there so I decided to check out what he was doing. A few minutes later I spotted him dragging a couple of black garbage bags. They were full and pretty heavy. Then he went back to get a shovel. He spent the next hour digging a big hole and dumping the contents of the bags in. You wouldn't guess what he had in those bags."

"I think I already know that part, Mr. Podmore," Nancy said politely. "Is that when you called the police?"

"Well, you have to admit it looked pretty suspicious. But it wasn't only that. I've been suspicious of him before. He's been a secretive person. For example, when I wanted to see the cabin he kept making excuses. It was as if he were guarding something inside that building. I think he only gave in because it looked too suspicious to keep saying no."

"What surprises me is that no one reported anything suspicious about Eberhart's operation earlier."

"There are people on this island who turn a blind eye to suspicious activity, Nancy." Mrs. Podmore looked darkly at her. "Oh, they'll make all kinds of excuses. They'll say they aren't going to snoop around on their neighbors. What their neighbors do isn't any of their business. They'll say that you're the exception, Nancy, for wanting to look into a mystery."

"There are even people," Mr. Podmore added, "who think that what Eberhart was doing had nothing to do with the island at all. We don't make the stuff, we don't use it, they'll say. This was only a transshipment point, so to speak. It wasn't an island problem."

"I can see that it's easy in a place like this to get isolated, from other people and from the outside world."

"But we have to fight against that," said Mrs. Podmore with surprising passion. "You have to reach out and listen to the community. You have to let all these stories flow through you and connect up. I've been here a long time Nancy, and sometimes I feel like I'm the warp of a fabric and there are all these threads running across me, and together we make up one fabric. The place, the community, me, we're one fabric." She stopped herself and grinned. "You don't expect to hear me sounding so preachy, do you?"

"Oh, I find your opinions fascinating. I could learn a lot from you."

"I was thinking of an old story or two. That's what got me rambling off topic. They're not very important, you understand. I mean, they don't change the criminal case."

"Now seems like a good time to tell me."

"Yes, you're right. The first thing I was going to mention is that Horace isn't the first person to carry out smuggling operations from this island. During the Prohibition era people used to smuggle crates of liquor into the American islands from here. The Fisk family was at the center of it, or so the story goes. That's how they got the money to buy all this land and to build their house."

Nancy listened thoughtfully. "I noticed that there's a public park named after Cyrus Fisk."

"Yes, years afterwards he donated a big chunk of money used for the park. By then they accepted him as one of the leading citizens of the island. They sort of forgot about the notoriety of his family."


	25. Chapter 25

"I wonder what I should call this case?" said Bess. "It's too bad I can't use 'Secret of Bat Cave'."

"I don't see why not," replied Nancy with a amused grin.

"There's nothing secret about it."

"Don't forget about the gold."

"Nancy!" Bess groaned, "what are you talking about? It can't be a secret if it doesn't exist."

Nancy laughed. "I almost forgot to tell you. I think there really is gold in that cave." Her friends looked at her as if she were pulling their legs. "Honestly! Remember when we left the cave? I had red dust on my back and my hands. Later, I recalled that I had leaned against a smooth wall in the cave. Well, you know, the cave is all sandstone and it's that yellowish color."

"So what are you saying?"

"That wall must be clay. Someone brought up a load of clay, I think, to fill in an opening in that wall."

"And behind the opening is a secret chamber. A secret chamber that contains the bag of gold nuggets!" George said excitedly.

"That's my theory anyway. Let's put it to the test, shall we?"

The girls were soon back on the by-now-familiar ridge with their tools. They set immediately to work. The clay wall was hard. The clay was completely dry. After a few hard whacks with the shovel it cracked and crumbled. Behind the opening they had created was a small hollow. Sitting on the floor was a brown leather bag. Just in front of the bag the letters "CF" were printed on the floor with white chalk.

"Cyrus Fisk must have done this!" Ivy gasped.

Nancy gestured for Ivy to take the leather bag. Ivy reached in and dragged it out of the hollow. She untied the knot on the leather drawstring.

"Omigod!" exclaimed Ivy. Everyone could catch a glimpse of the glittering gold dust. "It's gold, real gold! And the bag is heavy." Ivy looked like she wanted to jump up and down. Nancy was kind enough to think that she was more delighted at ending the long-standing mystery surrounding the old prospector than she was about the cash value of their find, especially after what happened on Metcalfe Point.

They returned to Ivy's house happily imagining how much the gold was worth and thinking of ways to spend it. Mr. Fisk was in the living room chatting with Mr. Podmore. They were both amazed to see the girls' find.

"I never imagined I would see this," Mr. Podmore pronounced. "After all those years."

"Before you make any more plans for the money," Nancy declared, "there's something I have to let you know about the message in the _Tom Sawyer_."

"Oh no," exclaimed George in mock horror, "it's another plot twist."

Nancy brought the book forward and opened it to the back of the title page. "We were so eager to look for a map or something in the book that we went right past this." There was an inscription. It read, 'To my dear Tank, I hope you develop a taste for the classics. Love, Cyrus.' It was dated 1978.

"The pen and the handwriting look the same as the message at the back. Then Cyrus did write the message," concluded George.

"But who's Tank?" asked Bess.

Nancy said, "I think we should ask Mr. Podmore."

"Mr. Podmore, you've been on the island a long time. Do you remember about twenty-five years ago, a child nicknamed 'Tank'?"

Mr. Podmore seemed to be prepared for the question. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. There was this boy, he loved playing sports, hockey and football in particular. He was barrel-chested and big for his age, hence the nickname. It probably came from the comic strip character with that name. The boy's name was Horace. It wasn't Eberhart then. I think this is going to take a bit of explaining."

Mr. Podmore settled down to tell them the story. "Horace's mother came to the island when she was in her mid-twenties. She was single and pregnant. She needed a place to stay. Well, she ended up living with Cyrus. It caused quite the scandal at the time, as you can imagine, even with the tolerant attitudes that island folk are reputed to have. Horace grew up having to put up with a good deal of grief over his mother. That's the reason I remember him so well as a boy. She stayed with Cyrus all those years, until the boy was nine or ten. Then she married a roofer named Eberhart and moved out. Eventually they left the island."

"Why did Cyrus write down the cave's location? Why didn't he simply give Horace the gold?" Ivy asked.

"Oh, I don't know. I guess the old man was embarrassed to hand over a large sum of money to the boy. It was easier for him to make a game out of it. Maybe it was his way to challenge the boy, to make him earn it."

"Didn't Cyrus tell Horace about the gold when he couldn't find it?"

"I guess not. Don't ask me to explain what the stubborn old fellow was thinking. Maybe when Horace's mother left him he changed his mind. We'll never know for sure."

"That seems pretty mean of him," said Bess reprovingly.

Nancy said, "So Horace kept the book all those years. When did he return to the island?"

"About ten years ago, just before Cyrus's death. You have to realize that Cyrus spent his last days in a care home in MacNeish – it's a small town on Coeverden Island – and wasn't living on Catriola at the time. As for the cave, the truth is that Horace had pretty much forgotten about it when he told me the story. This was when I was doing research. He thought it was nothing more than an odd whim on the part of Cyrus."

"It's sad to think that they couldn't have had a sort of reunion," Nancy mused.

Mr. Fisk interrupted. "My father heard about Horace's story after Cyrus died. In his will Cyrus bequeathed a small legacy to Horace's mother but nothing to Horace. My father subdivided the land and sold the waterfront house to Horace on very reasonable terms. It seemed a fair thing to do considering he had grown up in this house."

"Did he resent us being in the house?" asked Ivy.

"Not that he ever showed to me," Mr. Fisk said in his mild voice.

"I think he harbored bitter feelings towards Cyrus," said Mr. Podmore, "but you know Horace, he kept his feelings to himself most of the time."

"Mr. Podmore, you remembered the copy of _Tom Sawyer_ when you made that remark about looking for a message from Cyrus?" asked George. He nodded. "So the book was on the shelf all along?"

"Not necessarily," said Nancy. "Horace could have taken it from his home and slipped it into the bookcase when we weren't looking."

"What will we do with the money now?"

"I'd like to believe it was my grandfather's wish that it should go to Horace," Mr. Fisk said calmly. "As his living kin I think we should see that the right thing gets done. The money should be held here for Horace. It's more than likely that he'll be coming back when he's out of prison. People seem to have a way of breaking away from this island and then drifting back again. This place must be more like home to him than any other."

"It seems strange to think that he'll be our neighbor again," said Ivy a little doubtfully.

Mr. Fisk placed his hand over his daughter's hand which was resting on the arm of a chair and clasped it. "Yes, I suppose at the end of the day we all have to find a way to live with one another. Beyond the good and evil that men do there has to be forgiveness."


End file.
